Sacrifices
by Faux Pax
Summary: Padmé was always a strong woman, but even the strongest have their limits. A vision of a world that could have been gives her the strength to continue on in her hellish world if only for her children. But the worlds are more connected then she could possibly know, and how can she trust her guide once she realizes that the happiness of one world must be sacrificed for the other?
1. Of Heaven and Hell

Sacrifices

Prelude

Of Heaven and Hell

* * *

The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.

John Milton

* * *

There was a single moment after Padmé woke, where she could pretend it had all been a horrible nightmare. Where she could pretend that Anakin hadn't ripped her heart out with his betrayal of her and everything they stood for—fought for—but that moment did not last. As she looked at the world around her, she quickly came to the conclusion that she hadn't, in fact, woken from her dreams. The setting had merely shifted from one of fire and soot to something much more pleasant.

There was no other way she could have found herself standing on the very same balcony in Varykino where she and Anakin promised themselves to each other just three years ago.

A part of her wanted to play dumb—to convince herself that _this _was the reality and that the hell she had come from was nothing but a bad dream, but something inside her would not allow it. The part of her that knew better would not allow it.

It was a small detail that tipped her off; a detail so miniscule, she could have almost pushed those doubts deep into the farthest corners of her mind, but she knew her home better than anywhere else. The fact that the cool night air did not have the same chilly bite that so defined it during winter, spoke volumes to her.

This was not her home. It couldn't be.

She shivered, remembering her last few conscious moments. An invisible hand gripped her neck in its vice like grasp. A hand controlled by someone who once loved her: someone who wore her husband's face.

She knew that until the day she died, she would never forget the horror and confusion that had overtaken her as hands that once caressed her so gently, now turned on her in unfathomable rage. She would never understand what had truly happened to her beloved; what had happened to turn her Ani into the kind of monster that would slaughter younglings.

A large part of her wanted to believe that Obi-wan had been lying; that for some cruel reason he was trying to destroy everything she and Ani had built together. And for a time she had. Padmé had known from the beginning that Anakin was many things, but a murder of younglings was never one of them…

Except it was. Had he not confessed to the very sin as he was shaking with grief over his mother's death? "_…even the women and the children…?" _

After that singular moment in the garage of the small adobe home, she hadn't mentioned it. Not once. She had, perhaps mistakenly, seen shades of remorse hiding behind his grief, and, because she had already loved him so, that had been enough to offer absolution in her eyes.

If she had done something—told someone—perhaps they could have intervened. Perhaps they could have caught him before he fell so far into the abyss that not even those closest to him could recognize the man he had become.

She had been selfish and afraid. She could not bear to draw the council's attention to their relationship—she had been too afraid of him being expelled from the order. It had not been difficult to see that he was born to be a Jedi; a life of stationary monotony would have quickly driven him mad. He needed to be on the move, helping people.

And yet, even that hadn't saved him from being consumed by his own demons.

There would never be a question in her mind as to whether or not there was still good in him. It was impossible to take a light that luminous and snuff it out like a candle, but there were innumerable ways to hide it until one could question if it had even existed at all.

The sound of a small gasp pulled her out of her thoughts, and she turned on her heals towards the noise. What she saw made her heart contract in a painful mingling of euphoria and agony that was nothing but salt rubbed against the open wounds of her broken and festering heart.

I single figure stood just down the corridor and, despite the poor lighting, Padmé recognized the man instantly.

"Where are you?" he called in a playful, sing-song voice.

"Here, Anakin, here!" She called out instinctually, but he didn't answer. He merely began to look around pillars and behind statues as if he were playing some sort of hiding game with a child. She called his name again but he could not hear her in the silence of the night.

A small giggle from beside her caught her attention and she looked down. There, hiding behind the pillar next to her, was a small red-haired boy, no older than about four. He smiled in excitement as Anakin stalked towards him and started tickling him mercilessly.

The child let out a peal of laughter and Ani's smile spread.

"Come now, Ben," he said, picking the child up, "if you aren't going to sleep, then you might as well stay in the living room with the rest of us. No wandering around the house, alright?"

Ben frowned, but gave a pouting little nod.

As the duo stepped into a narrow beam of moonlight, Padmé noticed something. This Ani was much older than he should be. Laugh lines framed his blue eyes, crisscrossing over the thin scar that danced across the side of his face and a generous dusting of gray was speckled into his dark blond hair.

Padmé's heart ached at the sight, wondering if it could possibly be the future that she was seeing. But deep down, she knew better. How could it be when her Anakin…?

She shook her head and tried to stop her thoughts before they could go to that dark place but, as much as she tried to tell her mind that it did not want to go there, it would not listen. A vivid image of her Anakin's bloodshot eyes, and terrifying joy when he spoke of the lengths he had gone to 'to bring peace to the galaxy' juxtaposed upon the scene, shattering any shred of hope that rested within her heart..

Was this place real at all, or was it the product of her weary mind and broken heart? Was she trying to somehow convince herself that the events of that hellish day had never really happened? More importantly, did she even want to know? This world did seem, after all, so much kinder then the one she called home.

The Anakin of this world did not see her as he and the boy walked past, and she was struck with a disturbing truth: this vision was not haunting her; she was haunting it.

Despite that unnerving epiphany, Padmé's curiosity got the better of her and she followed them down the dark hall until they reached one of the many small sitting rooms that Varykino housed.

The small space was packed with at least thirty people, all enjoying themselves; some of whom Padmé recognized, but most of whom she did not. Besides the older versions of Obi-wan, Anakin, Ashoka, and herself, she recognized none of them outright, although a great many of them did look familiar.

It was not hard to see that this gathering was not business related. All these people were close; they were either related or intimately connected to each other. Strangers wouldn't be so comfortable sitting so close, or so at ease in each other's company.

A part of her knew that she should turn and run, that what she was seeing could only bring her more pain. How could it not, when all she saw was what she could no longer have? Anakin had seen to that. He had cast her entire world into darkness just as swiftly as his love had brought its blinding light into her life three years ago.

She stood peaking around the door frame like a small child watching to see if they can catch Dua' Sol sneaking in to deliver presents during the winter festival. It was a childish action, especially given that none could see her, but she was unwilling to take the chance that her presence could somehow disturb them, thus scattering the beautiful moment like a colony of pitter-flies.

"Lev you spaz, there is no way that could top the day dad found contraceptives in Lor's room," a man in his mid-thirties said, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

Padmé watched Anakin cringe at the memory and her future self put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He wasn't the only one who was putt off at the thought; several of the younger ones rolled their eyes and a dark haired young man in his late twenties even went as far as to mimic retching, which seemed to garner quite a few more laughs from the crowd.

"You shouldn't tease her like that," The blond girl beside the retching young man said, smacking him on the back of the head playfully, before grabbing his face and kissing it passionately.

Padmé closed her eyes to avoid the site. It was too much like what she had with Anakin for it not to be agony to see. But even if she could bring herself to say something, there was no one around who could hear the agonized cries of an undead ghost.

"Ewww Canaan… no one wants to see that!" A boy, slightly younger than Canaan, said sparing Padmé anymore torture.

"Well then Ani, close your eyes," Canaan said breaking the kiss. As he turned his head to look at the boy, his gaze lingered on Padmé for the briefest second, sending chills down her spine. Had she not spent years in politics learning to read every micro expression, she never would have noticed it, and yet there was no doubt about what it meant. He could see her.

He turned to look at a much older and scruffier man, not giving Padmé any other sign that she had been seen, but something deep within her told her that the action was not a figment of her imagination.

"So Canaan, what's the big surprise?" the scruffy man asked, "You said you weren't going to say anything until everyone was here and, well…we're all here."

Canaan took a sip of his drink before letting the corners of his lips twitch upwards in a playful and unsurprised little smile.

"What does the betting pool say it is Han? And don't try and tell me there's not one—I know how this family works; someone started playing bookie the moment I said something."

Several of the more likely candidates had the decency to at least look sheepish, but one didn't even bother with the ruse.

"Well the consensus seems to be that you already knocked up that pretty little wife of yours, but I think it has something to do with your other nighttime adventures." Lev said putting his hands behind his head and grinning.

Kali looked at her husband with a single brow raised, but said nothing.

"It's not near as dirty as sounds, Kali, I swear," Canaan muttered as an aside to his beloved before turning his attention back to Lev, "and for that Lev, you're all going to have to wait a little longer to find out. Now if you'll excuse me—" he said, stepping over the tangle of people sitting on the floor and ignoring the myriad sounds of protest at the lack of a true answer.

When he got to the door he slipped two fingers into her sleeve and tugged. It was covert enough that no one else should have seen it, but it was just enough to let her know that she had been seen and that she should follow him.

"—I have business to attend to," Canaan continued over his shoulder, trying to give an excuse for his abrupt departure. The way Lev and a few others were looking at him spoke volumes: they weren't fooled but no one called him out on it and Padmé couldn't help but wonder if it was out of respect for him, or an attempt not to let him know just how much they suspected.

Canaan looked back at his wife and they shared a fleeting look that spoke more than words. Padmé knew they were communicating in the silent way only lovers could. It was a language she and Anakin had perfected over the years of secrecy.

Kali blinked her eyes infinitesimally in acknowledgment before standing on the table and calling the room's attention back to her.

"Alright, you caught us," she said putting her hands on her hips, "But if I hear that you guys started betting on the sex of the baby, someone is going to be in considerable pain. It's bad enough the kid has to be born into this group of idiots. The last thing it needs is to be the center of your decrepit ways before it's even born."

Canaan used the momentary distraction to slip away, dragging Padmé with him. She could have stayed and watched the morbidly perfect parody of her life, but she didn't. She didn't have the strength and, as much as she wanted to deny it, she knew that to stay would only bring her more pain and she was already so close to her breaking point.

He led them down a dark, deserted hallway and onto the singular balcony that offered an unobstructed view of the moonlight glimmering off the lake. Her family had often spent the summers here, so it was easier for her to ignore the breath taking sight and focus more on the matter at hand.

The boy sighed and ran his hand through his dark brown hair, tense, as if this was a conversation he despised having to have.

"Where am I?" Padmé asked, desperate to get answers.

Canaan propped his arms on the railing, and rested his hands in his palms. He didn't look at her for a moment as he considered his answer, and Padmé got the distinct impression that there was a lot he did not want to say.

Canaan sighed and turned his face away from the water. There was something in his eyes that unnerved Padmé—a familiarity she just couldn't place. A great deal of guilt and secrecy was eating him, but there was a spark of strength—or perhaps defiance—there that told her he would not let it consume him. Not like—

"About fifty years in the future and down the nuna whole," he muttered, saving her from finishing the thought.

"What?" Padmé asked, her mind racing with the implications. So she _was_ in the future…but that still didn't make sense.

"It's complicated. Let's just say that this is both the prelude and the epilogue to a very long and convoluted story. I don't know why the Force would choose to send you here, but it's cruel." He muttered and Padmé couldn't help but wonder if he was being deliberately vague or if that was just part of his natural disposition.

Either way, getting a straight answer out of him was going to be like pulling teeth. But then again, Padmé had been a politician for most of her life—making sense of dodgy answers was a big part of her life's work.

"I still don't understand."

Canaan gripped the edge of the stone balcony and sighed, obviously still uncomfortable with the situation he found himself in. He took a moment to compose himself before slowly turning to look at her.

"The future is not linier," he said, licking his lips in a combination of confusion and frustration that could only come when one did not know exactly how to explain an important concept. "It's like when you travel. Just because you chose one path over the other, does not mean it ceases to exist."

"So this world is what could have been if Anakin…" she trailed off and looked around.

"Yes and no. Our worlds are intimately linked—braided together—so that what happens in one affects the other…and vice versa."

"I still don't understand."

"I don't completely understand it myself, and I've lived it. All I can say is that, if you want that to be possible," he said, motioning down the hall to the room full of happy, laughing people who had never seen the horrors she knew were destined to come, "then things in your world have to happen a certain way."

She gazed down the hall; unsure why this meant so much to her if it was a future she could never see. But for some reason that didn't seem to matter to her.

"What do I have to do?" she asked, her voice stronger and more sure then it had been since Obi-wan had spoken those horrible words in her living room.

Canaan looked up, clearly surprised at her reaction, but he said nothing. He just smiled and gave a slow, appreciative nod.

"You know, I wondered why the Force would send you here. It's cruel beyond all measure…but perhaps it was just what you needed to gain the strength to fight."

"What? Fight against the empire—fight against—"she could not bear to say his name but she had to. She had to admit to herself, if to no one else, that he had become the enemy; that he had become the very thing he had once hated. The very thing they all had once hated. "To fight against Anakin?"

He scoffed. "A rebellion in that world will only succeed if it's born of irony and not born out of a betrayed lover."

"Can't I just stay here?" the words came tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could think to catch them. The desire to stay was not something she had even articulated to herself before, but now that she had said it, it made sense. This was after all, the life she had often dreamed during the few moments of peace granted during the war. This was her paradise.

"Why would you want to?" He asked softly and without judgment.

A part of Padmé couldn't help but be annoyed at him. The true question was why wouldn't she prefer this idyllic place to the hell she had come from. By what stretch of the imagination was _that _better than this?

"If there were a way for you to stay," he said, answering her unspoken thoughts, "then I would do everything I could to help you, but I'm afraid it's just not possible. Besides, why would you want to live in a world that does nothing but taunt you with that which you can never have? A world where you would be nothing but a specter seen only by a few? What kind of life is that?"

"It's probably better than the one I would live in my world." It was a harsh, yet honest truth. If Anakin had died in the war, she would have been in agony, but this…well, this was a whole new level of hell.

Canaan covered her hand with his and gave her a small, compassionate smile. It wasn't really enough to make her feel any better, but she appreciated the gesture.

"Your children need you, now. Without you, they will be separated; spread to all corners of the galaxy, never to know each other but for a cruel twist of fate. Is that what you want for them?"

"Of course not." Padmé whispered, automatically. She must not have put enough emotion behind her words, because Canaan furrowed his brow and grabbed her shoulders in a hard, but not painful, grasp. Padmé looked up, shocked. She had not thought him the kind of man to grab someone like that, but she was beginning to learn that she wasn't as good at trusting the right people as she once thought.

"Listen to me, and listen well. Your Anakin has already abandoned those children for his own selfish reasons. Don't you do the same. They need you." He hissed, for the first time showing anything but compassion for her plight.

She didn't feel threatened, just uncomfortable. As much as she wanted to argue like a selfish child, he did have a point and she was ashamed for not seeing it earlier.

The set of Canaan's face didn't waver from the intense and slightly angry look that had crossed his face as he accused her of following in her wayward husband's footsteps. Again she was struck by the subtle sense of familiarity that she could not place.

His silence spoke volumes. He was waiting for an answer and there was really only one to give.

"You're right," she whispered, almost grudgingly.

His eyes widened for a brief second before a small, boyish grin spread across his face.

"You'll stay?" He whispered, almost in wonder. "For them?"

She nodded once and opened her mouth to say something, but the only sound to escape her lips was a choked gasp. Padmé pulled her arms across her abdomen, knowing instinctually what that feeling meant. The baby was coming.

She looked up at Canaan, begging for answers. It seemed unlikely that she would be able to give birth to her child in the real world when she was trapped in this fairy tale land. And as much as she wanted to stay, he was right: the child was infinitely more important.

"How do I get back?" She begged.

"If I told you all you had to do is tap your heals three times, would you believe me?" He replied with a smirk, but she was not amused. The life of her child was too important to laugh about.

Canaan sighed, seeing her harsh expression. "Just will it Padmé. You might be surprised what a bit of stubbornness and a good deal of the right attitude can accomplish in this world."

It seemed almost stupid and overly simplistic, but she had long ago learned that with the Force, things could often be that way for those who could touch it. Padmé concentrated on what she knew to be real. Her pain (both physical and mental), her love for her child and fallen husband, her dedication to democracy, and the stirrings of the life growing inside of her that was so ready to see the dark and broken world it would inherit.

"I'll come and check up on you as much as I can," Canaan said, but his voice sounded far and detached, as if she were hearing it echoed down a long tunnel, "but I can't always control—"

His voice completely faded out, replaced with the rhythmic beeping and bright lights of a birthing room.

The next few hours were some of the most physically painful in her life—as she had been told they would be—but when she heard the cries of her firstborn, and moments later learned it was not the singular child she was expecting, her resolve only hardened. Canaan was right. She had to survive for them. Even though they deserved so much more, it was all she could give.

Canaan did not rejoin the party that night. He stood in the same spot on the balcony, looking out over the water, not really seeing anything, until well past everyone else's bedtime. Only part of his delay could be blamed on his wondering thoughts. The truth was that a good portion of him just wanted to avoid his family.

For the most part, they would not ask, no matter how much they wanted to. They knew, the force-sensitive among them at least, that he would speak about his adventures on his own time. The peculiar gift he had—the one that allowed him to understand, perhaps better than anyone else, just how the two worlds fit together—was sometimes more curse than blessing.

He had learned that long ago as he discovered the limits of what he could do to help those touched by his ability, and what he had to do (no matter how unpleasant) with the opportunities that gift afforded him.

Canaan didn't turn on the light as he entered the room he and Kali shared for the remainder of the retreat. He did not want to wake her.

"Who was it?" she asked, not even opening her eyes as he slid into bed next to her.

He sighed, knowing that although his beloved would not ask again, she would not let the matter drop until she had an answer.

"The chancellor."

"From the other world?" She asked, turning to look at him, studying the way the few beams of moonlight that danced through the blinds fell onto his face.

"I think I'm going to hell." He said, stroking a fine, white scar along her collar bone.

She scoffed. "Life is hell. But what makes you say that?"

"Maybe it would have been kinder to let her die. Force only knows, it would save a lot of pain." He murmured.

Canaan could practically _hear _her rolling her eyes at him, but he didn't say anything. His mind was too preoccupied with his guilt and anguish.

"But it would have had less of a reward. You've told me what happens in every world in which she dies."

"I know but—"

She grabbed his hand, stilling it, but did not push it away. "Pain is what turns us into who we need to be to face the world and, yes, it may consume us for a time, but when we emerge, we emerge stronger than ever. Padmé is a strong woman. She can handle it. I'm not saying it will be easy—from what I've heard of that world, nothing is—but it will be worth it."

Canaan stared at her, wide eyed. He had been around enough politicians to hear the words lingering just under the surface. Kali wasn't just talking about Padmé, even if she didn't know it. Canaan had known he was going to marry her since he was four years old, but he had also understood for just as long, that, in a lot of ways, she was broken, probably never to completely heal.

But this, the way she was speaking now, was a good thing. It was the first time she had ever shown any sign of truly putting her troubled past behind her.

"They all get their paradise," she finished, bringing his mind back to the moment.

Now it was his turn to scoff. "It's not like they even know it in the end."

Canaan propped himself on one elbow to watch as he wife started laughing, completely confused as to what was so funny.

"You really think that?" she asked, when her laughs had died down some. "Next time you get a chance ask Lori, or Nari…or hell, even Galen and see just how true that is."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice laced with a reserved kind of horror.

Kali just gave a final chuckle and turned over, pulling the covers tight. "Goodnight Canaan."

He knew he would get no more from her. She liked her secrets just as much as him, albeit for much different reasons, and so he was left once more that night, with a wondering mind and sinking feeling deep in his gut that maybe—just maybe—his so called gift really sucked rancor balls.

* * *

Expect a new chapter every Monday, also due to more then one request, a small glossary of characters has been added to the bottom of my profile. Don't worry, there's not any real spoilers there, but I figured that it would help those of you who didn't realize that most were OC's rather then EU alumni. I will be adding to it and expanding it as the story goes on.


	2. The Meddling Game

Sacrifices

Chapter One:

The Meddling Game

* * *

"I may not believe in myself, but I believe in what I'm doing."

Jimmy Page

* * *

Canaan didn't sleep—not really—not like everyone else. He would craw into bed, cover up; close his eyes, and be dead to the world. Or so it would seem. It was his mind, not his body, that was cursed to spend eternity wondering. And it was that singular difference that had allowed him to hide his gift for so long.

His first conscious memories were of his parents tucking him safely into bed and waking up somewhere else. Sometimes it was the past; he would walk the wilderness, long before intelligent beings touched the unspoiled land. Sometimes it was the future—a dark and distant possibility. He would watch as the galaxy changed around him; into something glorious or gory depending on the actions of the generations that came before it.

But sometimes, he found himself walking in a world of what could have been. It only took a single action by a single person to change the fate of the galaxy. Multiply that by the trillions upon trillions of choices made by trillions upon trillions of beings over the span of millions of years, and you get an infinite number of realities he could visit.

He had never been able to interfere with any of them…at least at first. One day when he was twelve, a little girl in a dark place could see him, could talk to him. Those few moments of doing what he previously thought impossible had cost him. That week, passed out in the healing wing of the temple, had been the only time he could remember where he had seen the true blackness of sleep; where he hadn't dreamwalked.

If his father hadn't come to check on him right when he had that night, he would have died, bleed out onto his pillows until there was nothing left in his veins but dust and his mind cast permanently into the darkness he had never really seen. His parents had been angry at him, although at the time he wasn't sure if it was for the danger he had put himself in or because he had not told them of his escapades (or a combination of both).

After that, it began to get easier to interfere…but just in that one world; never in any others. Perhaps it became easier because that world was so entwined with the one he called home, or perhaps they became entwined when he started interfering. It's impossible to say. What he had known, however, was that the girl needed his help.

A part of Canaan was ashamed to admit it, but his reasons weren't entirely altruistic. The girl was just as lonely as he was and, as bad as that world was, it was a nice break from his own problems—from his own losses—and those who forgot they weren't the only ones suffering.

But as the years went on, and he begin to see just how small his problems were in comparison his visitations became less and less about just having a friend; they became about actually doing something. With more and more practice interfering, he grew stronger and gained more control over his abilities, until one day when both he and the girl were almost grown, he had the strength to offer her a chance to have everything she had ever wanted—everything she had earned in that life. And when all was said and done—when the girl had gotten her happy ending—he thought his medaling days were over.

He was wrong.

The moment the emotionally battered spirit of Padmé Skywalker showed up at that party, he knew he was wrong. There was no way he could live with himself if he just left the broken woman to fend for herself in the harsh world, and so he was drawn back into the meddling game. Although it had been over half a decade since the girl had gotten her happy ending, his work was, apparently, not over. In fact, it was just beginning…from a certain point of view.

The first thing he did after registering the shift was to try and look for clues as to where (and when) he was. Sometimes this was impossible—if he landed in the middle of an uninhabited, generic forest, he wouldn't have a chance, but this time gave him a decent amount of information.

The tall, orange-red cliff walls sounding him didn't exactly answer the 'where' but the people around him gave the rest of his answers without much difficulty. Dozens of armored men sat around, enjoying a slight lull in whatever battle they were fighting, but all of these men had the same face and that fact in and of itself narrowed the timeline down considerably.

A trogruta girl not far from where he was standing stared at him and in that moment he knew that she could see him.

This was not the first time he had dreamwalked into the middle of a battle, far from it, but this was the first time someone could see him…at least the first time that the girl wasn't around.

"Who are you? And how did you just appear like that?" A young Ahsoka Tano asked.

"Err…" he said, scratching the back of his head, trying to think of an answer that she would believe and that wouldn't take an eternity to explain, "It's a long story."

He mentally smacked himself. Smooth Canaan, real smooth.

She went to say something, but he wasn't really paying attention. Instead he was looking around, studying everything.

He had only ever been seen in _that _world, so logic would have it that this was _that _world. But he didn't understand his place here.

Canaan knew he had arrived in one of those rare lulls in the fighting—when the battle wasn't really over, it was just a break as both sides waited for reinforcements or were gathering their wits or something of the like. Clones sat everywhere, not completely at attention, but not safe enough to set up camp just yet.

Something was off. A cold, prickling feeling in the force had ever hair on Canaan's body standing on end, but he wasn't sure why.

And then he saw it.

A clone captain—Canaan racked his brain for a name. Rex, wasn't it?—was standing off to the side, talking into a commlink. Although Canaan could not see who Rex was talking to from that angle, he knew who it was and even could repeat the approximate conversation if he was asked.

The girl had told him about this—order sixty-six—and what it had meant for this world. It was the death warrant for all but the luckiest of Jedi, and even those that survived were condemned to a lifetime of misery and hell. The clones would turn on the Jedi who had led them into battle, who became there brothers, their friends, those who had been beside them in many cases for almost the entirety of the war, and they would shot down to die like dogs . Every. Single. One.

That also meant that right now, untold light years away, this version of Anakin Skywalker was leading a raid on the temple, slaughtering everyone who crossed his path.

Canaan didn't have time to shudder at the thought, at how completely alien the notion was, before Rex shut off the comlink.

He had to think fast. As of yet, Rex was the only one with the order. If he acted fast enough, he could take him out before he passed it along….but he couldn't kill the would-be murderer.

Shit.

Canaan knew he had to think fast. There was no way he could save Ahsoka if it came to a fight—not against the whole battalion at once; not when he had to worry about her getting in the way—and truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure what would happen to him if he died in dreamland; curiosity was not worth the risk.

"Ahsoka, call him over here." He commanded the padawan in a harsh whisper. She studied him for a split second, suspicious. Canaan prayed that the force would intervene; whisper the truth in her ear loud enough for her to hear and heed it. He was here to help.

She gave an infinitesimal nod and motioned to the captain.

Canaan watched as Rex walked over, never betraying the order he had just received. A part of him wondered just how the man could seem so unburdened by what he had been about to do, but he buried that thought. Sometimes people just did what they felt they had to and that was it. Sure, some people were better at it than others, but that didn't matter now.

All that mattered in the brief moment was how was he going to make sure Rex never got the opportunity to pass on the order? And more importantly, how was he going to get Ahsoka of the planet before the new found Empire had the chance to wring the life from her?

"Commander—" the clone began, addressing Ahsoka, but Canaan cut him off.

"Sleep." Perhaps the force suggestion was a little more forceful than necessary, the clones were bred to be docile and obedient, but it was better safe than sorry. There would be no second chances.

Rex crumpled, slumped behind the generous pile of supply crates that hid the trio from the rest of the battalion.

There was a soft yet deafening hum as Ahsoka ignited her double lightsabers to protect her friend. Canaan shouldn't have been surprised, she had always been as loyal as Anakin—the Anakin from his would at least—but that didn't make his job any easier.

He knew he couldn't tell her the truth about what was going on, about Anakin, about the republic, not now. She wouldn't believe it and if she tried to verify his words it would only paint a giant, inescapable target on her back.

It had long been drilled into his head that the Force was a thing for good. A Jedi did not use its power to attack or harm. It was only to be used for knowledge or defense, lest those actions set them down a dark path forever.

That was the code the Jedi had lived by for a thousand generations and, although parts of the code were considered outdated in his world, the distinction between darkness and light was not one of them.

Canaan wasn't a dark person by far; in fact, he was a lot less dark than some of the other wielders of the light side in the temple. But if his visitations to this dark, cruel world had taught him anything, it was that the line between dark and light—good and evil—wasn't near as binary as the Jedi order tended to believe.

He understood why they taught the younglings such a black and white view; the gray area was dangerous. Some people could easily get lost in the no man's land in-between and stumble too deeply into the darkness before they realized their folly.

But that was only the truth for some. Others were a lot more agile when it came to walking that fine thread between enough and too much.

Images flashed behind his eyes of some of the greatest Jedi of the order. Most of them had one thing in common: they lived in the gray areas. Vaapad, Master Windu's signature saber style, required dancing along the edges of the darkside. Anakin Skywalker was notorious for letting his emotions rule him, wither they be positive or negative at the time. And Galen Marek…well, for a man who hadn't seen the darkness like this worlds counterpart of him, there sure as hell wasn't much difference in his fighting style.

Canaan knew bringing them into this was a flimsy excuse, just because they could walk that middle road did not mean that Canaan had the strength to do the same but he was out of options. He had to justify his next move somehow, even if it was only to himself. He could either do what he had to, or he could let Ahsoka die and that was never really an option.

At twenty-seven years old, he should have damn well have been able to beat a padawan, even one as talented as Ahsoka, but he was too desperate. There was no denying Ahsoka was faster than him, more agile, if they were to fight it would not end quickly or quietly enough to escape notice from the entire battalion of clones just across the way.

He never actually forced choked her—not like Vader would—it was more like using his hand to force levitate her by her neck. With a single jerk, she came flying towards him.

Canaan caught her and held her tight, the crook of his arm pressing into her wind pipe. He mentally counted as she squirmed, careful to only hold the grip long enough to incapacitate, rather than kill. He hated himself for doing it; for making himself that much like Vader, but it was the only thing he could think to do.

As Ahsoka's unconscious body slumped down the crates and landed beside Rex, a choir of voices caught Canaan's attention. For all his efforts, he had not been as inconspicuous as he had hoped.

He took a deep breath, to calm his frustrations. This was not going to be pretty.

Canaan reached for his lightsaber, only to find his belt empty. He groaned. Once he began to come to the dark world—once people begin to see him and he could actually interfere in their lives—he had taken to wearing his lightsaber to bed, after all, it stood to reason that, because he had never shown up naked, he could bring things along with him.

But it had bothered Kali as she slept, and he thought he was done meddling in that world, so he had stopped. Lot of good that did him now. Oh well, a good Jedi makes good with what they have on hand, rather than lamenting over what they were lacking, and there were two lightsabers right there who were probably not going to be used any time soon.

Canaan was strong for a Jedi in general, but he always saw himself as falling short of the mark, especially given the greatness he was constantly sounded by. He was more than proficient in saber skills, but next to Kenobi, he always looked like a padawan. Galen could dance circles around him when it came to using the force, and piloting…well that was hopeless. Canaan could start a ship and maybe get it into hyperspace, but that was about it; he was nothing but podoo in a fighter fight.

Now he was going to have to face hundreds of opponents at once and he could not afford to lose this battle. A part of him was daunted at the task before him, but he did not have time to show it.

A gentle chuckle echoed in the back of his mind. _Nothing is impossible unless you say it is. _His mother was right, as she usually was. Telling himself that it was impossible only hindered him.

The first step to doing the impossible was to think outside of the obvious. They had numbers but he had an ally no clone could have: the force.

He for the first time since appearing in this world, he reached out and used that ally to get a feel for the area. It was a rocky and almost uninhabited world—in all honesty, he had no idea why they were there in the first place—but he could use that. If he didn't have to worry about civilian casualties, then he didn't have to hold back.

With an outstretched hand, he reached out and tugged at the edges of an outcropping the clones had been using as a makeshift base. Ten tons of rock crumbled down on their heads, taking out a fair few of them.

The rest immediately went to dig their brothers out of the rubble and Canaan saw that as his chance. Picking up Ahsoka's limp form in his arms, he force sprinted to the ship.

He had almost made it when a single voice told him he had been spotted.

"Hey!" A trooper yelled, drawing the attention of the survivors to the unknown Jedi as he fired at the ship. That single act sent Canaan's mind spinning into a borderline panic. Rex hadn't been the only one to get the order which meant that all his efforts to incapacitate him had been for naught.

Canaan Force pushed the trooper back, and hightailed it up the ramp. He dropped Ahsoka at the top, having no time to strap her down, before going into the cockpit, flipping switches as he walked.

He knew he sucked at piloting; it was just a fact of his life. Almost everyone he knew would fight over that privilege when there was more than one of them in a ship, but not him. He had never really been able to learn, not even when Master Skywalker tried to teach him.

Not for the first time, however, he was beginning to wish that wasn't the case. Now all he could do was trust in the Force and hope Ahsoka woke up in time to land this thing.

* * *

Ahsoka knew something was off the moment she woke up. The last thing she remembered was the strange Jedi appearing out of nowhere and attacking her. And yet the more she thought about that, the less it didn't add up.

There was something about him that reminded her a lot of the odd family of Force users she had met while on Mortis; he had appeared out of nothing like smoke passing through a fan. One of first things she had noticed about him was that he never seemed completely solid. Even when he had his arm pressed against her windpipe, it had felt like, had she just been able to press hard enough, she would have gone right through him.

Perhaps, though, that was just a product of a severally oxygen deprived brain.

Both the Force and logic were telling her that his violence had not been malevolent. After all, if he had truly wanted to hurt her, then why had she woken up unbound in the cabin of the _Twilight? _He hadn't even taken her lightsabers.

But that didn't mean she trusted him.

He sat there, sprawled across the pilots chair, his eyes closed and his breathing even. Maybe he was asleep or in some odd form of meditation. Either way, she didn't care. She wanted answers and she couldn't give him the opportunity to prove her wrong.

She ignited her lightsaber and held its burning point a mere centimeter from his throat. The man didn't so much as flinch as he opened his eyes and gave her a crooked little simile that more than a little reminiscent of the way Skyguy looked when facing an opponent he knew he would win against.

"I was wondering when you would get up. You want to take over?" he said motioning to the control panel, "I'm sure you're a lot better at this than I am."

"Who are you?" She asked, confused by his calm manner. Not many people would find themselves completely unperturbed with a searing pillar of plasma hovering that close to such a critical area of their bodies.

He cocked his head to the side and then gave it a little shake as he deftly moved around her outstretched blade to give her the pilot's chair.

"Sorry about that. I keep forgetting you don't know me. My name is Canaan, and I just rescued you. "He gave a little bow as the corners of his lips tugged upwards like the words were some sort of privet joke, but she paid that no attention.

"Rescued me? From what?" She asked, dropping her lightsaber slightly, but not disengaging it.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His face looked as if he had aged a hundred years with that one question.

"Ask Obi-wan about order Sixty-six when you get a chance. That's where we're headed."

The console at his fingertips started beeping, indicating that the ship was coming out of hyperspace. Almost instantly, a voice over the intercom was demanding their identification codes.

Canaan made no effort towards the button, instead he just put his hands behind his head and stared at her expectantly.

"We're heading into Polis Massa Mining facility—particularly the medical bay. Give them your name and ask for Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Ahsoka still didn't trust him, but she saw no other option.

There was a few nerve racking seconds of silence before the operator gave her permission to land.

"As I told the senator, I'll try and help as much as I can, but I can't make any promises." He said, his voice taking on an odd pitch as if he were speaking from the other side of a long tunnel despite being mere meters form her. "I'm sorry I can't answer any of your questions, but someone is trying to wake me and it's never good if I stay too long."

She turned to ask him what he was talking about but he was gone, disappeared as if he had never truly been there, leaving her to face the truth on her own.

* * *

Hey guys, just to let you know, I have a little index of characters up on my profile since a couple people mentioned being a little swamped with the name dropping last chapter. I understand how confusing it can be but all of them will be introduced with context when it's appropriate. Until then, they're not all that important.

As for the EU, I will be mentioning things that happened in the first half of the Clone Wars animated series (I still haven't caught up on season 5) and perhaps a couple other sources, and there will be cameos from some background characters. You don't have to have seen them all though. Ahsoka and Rex will be a part of the story, so if you don't know them, you may wish to take a peak at their wookiepedia pages...and while you're there you may want to skim over the Starkiller page as well.


	3. The Birth and Death of Hope

Sacrifices

Chapter Two: The Birth and Death of Hope

* * *

"The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other."

Mario Puzo, _The Family_

* * *

Ashoka stood, her knuckles resting against the door. She was too numb to think, or cry, or do anything much more than breathe…and yet, there was still something she had to do.

As much as she trusted Obi-wan and Master Yoda, she could not bring herself to believe their words. They could have told her that night had suddenly became day or that Master Windu himself was Darth Sidious and she would have been more willing to accept it than what they were telling her now.

There was one last hope.

Ashoka had never been as blind to her master's feelings towards the senator as she had pretended to be. She would have been blind not to see it. Although she had spent most of her life either in the temple or on the battlefield, she wasn't naive enough to miss the way Anakin's face had lit up whenever Padmé's name had even been mentioned.

If Padmé told her that this was nothing but a mistake—that Obi-wan and Yoda were somehow wrong about Anakin—then she would believe her. It would be easier then to think that Skyguy could…that the temple…

But she would not get her answers standing like this in the cold sterility of the med center. After three quick raps on the door, she heard a soft, almost broken, voice biding her to enter.

That was her first clue that Padmé might not be able to offer her the answers she was looking for. But her mind didn't register it; she was going to ignore the words the Force itself was screaming at her until she had no hope left.

When she saw the infinite sadness in the senator's eyes, she knew that today was the day all hope died.

"Hello Ashoka, it's good to see you." Padmé's words were casual, but that was the only facet of her being not laced with the pure destruction of heartbreak. Padmé's face had seemed to age decades just in the days since Ashoka had last seen her, and she knew it had nothing to do with her just given birth.

This was the kind of face only something horrible could have given her. Something like what Obi-wan had been trying to tell her.

It was in that moment that Ashoka knew she would not find the answer she wanted. Not here. Not anywhere.

So she did not ask. She merely ran her fingers over the soft skin of the sleeping infant resting in the bassinet at the end of the uncomfortable looking hospital bed.

Despite being assigned to help with the younglings on occasion before she became a padawan and being in charge of Rotta on that one mission, she really didn't have much experience with babies, so she couldn't really say if Luke was going to be anything like his father. But she couldn't help but hope that he was.

Even if Anakin…now that… she sighed, she couldn't even think the words. A Jedi is not supposed to dwell on the past, on things they could not change and yet, here she was, unable to move past this one betrayal. Though perhaps, just this once, it was okay. Her world was in ashes and the person she looked up to most had been the one to set the fire. Purposely and with no remorse.

Ashoka looked at the child resting by her finger tips and then at the bundle in Padmé's arms. Her brow furrowed a little.

"Isn't there…?"

Padmé nodded, not needing the younger woman to finish the sentence.

"With the nurses."

"Oh." Ashoka really didn't know what to say to that, so she changed the subject. And although the topic was new, it was hardly irrelevant. Of all the betrayals that came to light today, this was one of the more mild, but that did not mean it didn't still hurt.

"Why…why didn't you tell me?" She asked. Whatever answer Padmé gave, it wouldn't be absolution she was looking for. It couldn't be. Only a betrayal of this magnitude could have destroyed such a strong woman with such unforgiving finality.

There was no need to further hurt the older woman; asking her to confirm what the Force and every piece of evidence was shouting in the back of her head would not help Ashoka deal with the truth any easier.

Padmé pulled the small, pink bundle she was holding closer to her chest, as if having that tiny piece of Anakin close to her would keep her from falling apart at the mere memory of him.

"We told no one," she whispered, not looking up from the sleeping face of her daughter, "not even my family knew."

Ashoka opened her mouth, unsure what to say to that, but a knock against the doorframe saved her from having to form a response.

She turned and saw Yoda, Obi-wan and Senator Organa standing in the doorway. Something about seeing them standing there sent shivers down her spine. They were not cruel people, but this visit would only end in more pain.

"Hello Padmé," he said giving a small smile that almost hid his own agony, "I trust you and your children are doing well?"

Padmé gave a little smile, just as pain-filled and empty as his, and nodded. It was just pleasantries, everyone knew that. No one here could smile and mean it. Not now and maybe not ever.

She handed the child to the nurse-droid and asked it to take the children into the nursery so they could talk without the threat of wakening the newborns.

Ashoka could tell by the tenseness in the woman's movements that Padmé had probably guessed that this wasn't a conversation she really wanted to have, but she didn't run and Ashoka was glad. It meant that despite the last couple days shattering her completely, there was still some strength left.

Strength she was going to need.

Once the children were gone, Obi-wan and Yoda sat in the chairs against the wall as senator Organa leaned against the wall halfway between them and Padmé. From where Ashoka sat on the edge of the bed, she couldn't help but be reminded of the diagrams of battle lines that had become so familiar to her.

She prayed it wasn't the case, but given the looks on the master's faces, she knew that today was not the day for luck.

"Warms my heart, it does, to see you in good health, young padawan." Yoda said, looking at Ashoka with the first genuine smile of the night.

"How did you survive the clones turning on you?" Obi-wan asked.

Ashoka fidgeted. They had asked her the same question earlier but the conversation had quickly deteriorated into dangerous territory when she asked about Anakin. She had to leave the room before she gave them an answer.

"I was checking on the communications station on Kiba, like the council assigned, when this man appeared out of nowhere." She explained.

"You mean he snuck up on you?" Organa asked almost as if he was surprised at the thought that someone could get the jump on a Jedi.

"No," she said, shaking her head, "it was like he formed out of smoke or something. He was just there and he seemed to know exactly what was going on with the clones." She forced herself not to dwell on those thoughts. Anakin was enough for right now; she couldn't really handle adding all the lesser betrayals to that tally. Not if she wanted to emerge from this with any faith in light left intact.

"I think he was a Jedi. I mean he was dressed like one and he could use the Force. I called Rex over and the man used a mind trick on him to make him fall asleep. When I confronted him about it he knocked me out." She had, unfortunately, heard details of what happened on Mustifar, and figured now wasn't exactly the best time to explain just how he had managed to get the jump on her.

"After that I didn't see anything. By the time I woke up, we were on a ship, almost here."

Yoda's brow furrowed. "Have a name, this man did?"

Ashoka nodded. "Canaan."

Padmé's eyes widened and everyone turned to look at her.

"Know this man, do you, senator?" Yoda asked.

"I thought…I thought it was all just a figment of my imagination." She muttered, looking down.

"Padmé?" Obi-wan asked softly and Ashoka wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't really heard her words.

She let out a controlled breath and closed her eyes. Ashoka wasn't sure if the apprehension rolling off the senator was because she hadn't wanted to share the answer to that or if it was because she just didn't want to think about it.

As she spoke of an idyllic world, Ashoka knew that no matter how hard it was for her to hear of it—to hear of a world where her world hadn't crashed around her—it was infinitely more agonizing for her. The very memory of it would be nothing but salt in an open, gaping wound. A wound that wasn't likely to ever truly heal.

No one spoke as she described the strange world and the even stranger man that seemed to understand what was going on far better than anyone else. When she was done she looked up, silently asking the masters for answers.

"Curious, it is." Yoda muttered, chewing on the end of his gimer stick.

"Master?" Ashoka asked in confusion.

"Appear, it does, that this Canaan, has a Force gift. But know of it, I do not."

Obi-wan's head turned to face the wizened old master. He didn't even bother to hide the fact his utter shock at the fact that there was something Force-related that Yoda hadn't heard of. He quickly shook off his disbelief and turned back to face the new mother.

"What I find more curious is what he said about the worlds being braided together. Did he give any more details?" He said.

Padmé shook her head.

"How could I have even seen that, Obi-wan? I'm not force sensitive." Her voice broke, and even the most oblivious among them could see how much pain she was in. It was obvious that in a lot of ways, Anakin had been her entire world—the center of her galaxy that everything revolved around. Ashoka couldn't help but wonder how they couldn't have seen it. Had Padmé and Anakin have just been that good at hiding it, or had the Jedi been that willing to turn a blind eye? Had they been that desperate to keep their star, their chosen one?

"But your children are." Yoda answered.

Obi-wan sighed.

"That's what we came here to talk to you about." His voice was heavy and weary and instantly Ashoka knew that the other boot was dropping. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

He looked to Yoda, almost as if he were silently asking the wizened old master to take over, to be the one to say whatever horrible, evil words were resting on the tip of his tongue.

Padmé tensed, recognizing the same thing Ashoka had. Her slightly narrowed eyes dared Obi-wan to continue and at the same time, dared him not to.

"Your children are strong with the force, almost as strong as Anakin."

"And you want to train them as Jedi?" Her voice was defensive, and yet Ashoka didn't really sense hostility behind her words.

"Perhaps someday, but…" Obi-wan sighed and looked down, clearly not wanting to go on. Ashoka had never seen him like this. He had always been the Negotiator, the one most graced with the gift of gab, in their merry little band. To see him so reluctant to say something was out of character.

Almost as out of character as Anakin slaughtering younglings.

"A beacon in the Force, your children are," Yoda said, sparing Obi-wan the pain of having to continue, "Separated, they must be, if to keep them from the eyes of the Emperor, we are."

For someone so versed in hiding her emotions, the natural mask on Padmé's face fell away so quickly it was almost comical. Almost. In its place was such incredulity and anger, and in a way, Ashoka was glad to see it. That single, determined look meant that the woman she had looked up to was not completely dead inside.

It meant that maybe, just maybe, although her heart had been crushed, her spirit had not been completely broken by Anakin's betrayal.

"You want to separate my children?" She hissed and Ashoka could have sworn she saw Obi-wan shrink back into his chair just a bit.

"Padmé, you must listen—" he began.

"No, you listen! I will not split up my family and I will not abandon my children."

Obi-wan's discomfort was more than evident and yet he fought through it, as if all depended on his success.

"They would be placed with good people."

Even before Ashoka saw the fire in the senator's eyes, she knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Ashoka also noticed that Padmé wasn't the only senator who seemed uncomfortable with the conversation. Organa had guilt roiling off him in waves, and she couldn't help but wonder if he would have been one of the 'good people' Obi-wan spoke of.

"And I suppose you have already selected these 'good people?'" her voice was colder and more biting than a winter windstorm on Hoth.

Obi-wan didn't answer. There was nothing he could say to deny it.

"I have already..." she took a deep breath and turned away from him, as if she couldn't say what she had to without drooping her senator's mask, without showing just how broken she truly was, before almost forcing the next words out of her mouth, "lost my husband today, you can't ask me to give up my children as well."

Obi-wan's face softened and he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder in comfort, but thought better of it and let it drop limply at his side.

"It's not about you, Padmé, it's about them. If you keep them together, it will only be that much easier for the Emperor to find them, and if he finds them—"

"I know." She snapped, dropping all attempts to keep her mask on. There was no point. Everyone here could see how broken she was, yet no one blamed her. No one saw it as weakness.

"I know," Padmé repeated, softer this time, as she sat back down on the bed, the exhaustion clear in every nuance of her being. She placed her head in her hands, and although she was not sobbing, there was no question as to what she was doing.

There was a moment of ringing silence as she composed herself.

"Leave." She commanded, using the bright white sleeve of her hospital gown to wipe all traces of moisture from her eyes.

Obi-wan opened his mouth to say something, to protest, anything to get her to agree.

"Please," she said softer this time, almost begging, "I just…I just need to think."

Obi-wan looked to Yoda, letting him decide if it was most prudent to agree to her request. The old master stopped chewing on his gimer stick and as he looked up at Padmé, his shoulders fell. It was an almost infinitesimal gesture, but it was there.

"Leave you to your thoughts, we will, senator." Yoda said gently, getting up. He began walking towards the door and Ashoka could tell that he wasn't exactly happy at the senator's request. There was little time and the safety of those children was too important to risk.

"Thank you." Padmé whispered, broken, as they left.

Ashoka didn't want to follow them. She knew that now, more than ever, the senator needed a friend. Padmé had been the closest thing Ashoka had ever had to a sister, but she could feel the truth in the Force—that above all that, she just needed some time alone—and followed the masters into the hallway.

"Well, that didn't go well." Obi-wan muttered to no one in particular as the door shut.

"Did you expect it to?" Senator Organa asked studying him as if he were surprised that the Jedi could have expected anything less.

Obi-wan just sighed.

* * *

Obi-wan watched as Padmé stood outside the nursery window looking in, a single hand pressed longingly against the glass. Briefly, he wondered why she wasn't inside with her children, but brushed it off. He would not ask; he had already intruded far too much on the woman already.

He was careful to make at least noise as he came up behind her. She shifted her weight ever so slightly and Obi-wan knew she had sensed his approach but besides that one movement, she didn't otherwise acknowledge his existence.

He said nothing for a lengthy moment, before turning to look at her and speaking the words he had wanted to say since the idea about what to do with the children had fallen from Master Yoda's ancient lips.

The rational part of him knew that Yoda was right, that this was the only way to protect the children, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel dirty for even asking. For over a thousand generations the Jedi had taken potential knights from their family before they were old enough to remember much more than a scent of grasslands and few images of playing with a brother.

This wasn't much different, but that didn't stop the slimy feeling from settling in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps it was because this was the first time he was so intimately involved with the acquisition process, but if he was being honest he would say that it was because this was Anakin's family that was being torn apart…at least what was left of it.

"I'm sorry Padmé, I never should have asked that of you," he whispered. It was a feeble apology but it was all he could give.

She looked at him unblameingly for a moment before turning her attention back to the glass that separated her and her children.

"I see the logic in it. After what Palpateen did to Anakin," she stopped and took a deep breath, seemingly berating herself internally. There was no point denying the truth of it all. "No. After what Anakin did to himself."

It was a hard thing for her to admit, even to herself, and it was even harder for Obi-wan to hear. Anakin may have been the one wielding the lightsaber, but Obi-wan knew where the true fault lied. For thirteen years, Anakin had been his brother, the other side of the same coin. If anyone should have known what was happening…

"I failed him. I should have seen it." His voice broke at the thought.

Padmé let out a soft huff of air that sounded like the ghost of a snort.

"Don't blame yourself," she whispered to him, still not taking her eyes off the glass, "There were signs, we just loved him too much to see them for what they were."

Obi-wan briefly considered asking what those signs were but decided better of it. There are somethings that are better he not know. The last thing he wanted was the memory of the good years tainted any more than they had to be. He needed that. He needed some way to differentiate Anakin form Vader (he couldn't bear to think of them as the same person) and knowing just how close to the darkness his friend had danced to the darkside would not help.

"I know you only meant well when you suggested separating them." She said, surprising him with the honesty of her words. He would not blame her if she hated him for allowing the words to leave his mouth—he felt the same and knew he would even before entering that room.

He looked at her and couldn't help but be grateful for that one modicum of forgiveness, that one act of absolution.

"I can't do it." Padmé said bluntly, her eyes meeting his.

Obi-wan stroked his chin and nodded, unsurprised, and not entirely sure if he was disappointed or not.

Padmé removed her hand form the glass, and for the first time he really looked at the scene behind it. Three small infants were cuddled asleep in an incubator. One of the pink bundles was significantly smaller than the other two, a fact only highlighted by the fact that it was attached to far more tubes and monitors then its small form could hold without looking like some grotesque science experiment.

"Lormé's so tiny." Padmé whispered, "A few hours ago, the doctors weren't sure she would make it… and she's still not completely out of danger yet, but she's getting better. Quickly."

Obi-wan looked on, his heart constricting in agony and not just because he could feel the new mother's pain through the force. According to the medic droids, it wasn't uncommon for multiples to be born early, and those that come early are naturally smaller. The…difficulties...Padme had experienced just before giving birth hadn't helped, but the third child had been the only one considerably affected.

"They put Luke and Leia in the crib with her and she started getting better, like she was drawing strength from them." Her eyes begged him to understand, "That's why I can't do it. I'm not being selfish. They need each other."

"It won't be easy, Padmé, living on the run."

"I know. I've known since the day I married him that my life wouldn't be easy. I just thought it would be keeping the secret…I never imagined this." She said, trembling.

Obi-wan sighed. "None of us did."

* * *

IMPORTANT AN!

Before you guys suddenly jump down my throat (or hit the back button) for making this a triplet fic, let me say something. I hate Marry-sues and extremely OOC characters with a passion. I think nothing ruins a story quicker than those two hell spawn.

That being said, I feel I need to clear something up. Lori is not a shameless self-insert and, as she gets older, it becomes apparent that she has some deep-seated flaws, like all beings. I could not put Luke or Leia in the same situations without having them act completely out of character, besides for the fic to go in the direction I have planned, they have their own roles to play.

Another thing, I like to play with clichés and put my own spin on them, so yes, there will be times when you think you know what's going to happen next because that's how _every other _fic does it, but don't go betting the farm on that.


	4. A Matter of Culture

Sacrifices

Chapter Three:

A Matter of Culture

* * *

Moving on, is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard.  
Dave Mustaine

* * *

Every wall in her room aboard the Tantive IV was the pure white of correction fluid; sterile, clean, and impersonal. Staring at them, Padmé couldn't help but be reminded of the vast emptiness of space, black and cold. In a way that was her life now. Void of any warmth but the few pinpricks of light that were her children, her stars.

Not even her family would be a part of her life now.

She found the thought bitter and biting as she held the single vial of powder blue liquid in her fingers. The moment she put the smooth glass to her lips, she would pass from consciousness, dead to the world and all its vial-reading machines. There was enough here to keep her under for three days—the maximum time Naboo tradition allowed its dead to remain unburied.

She knew how this would hurt the family that had raised her—supported her as she sacrificed everything in service to the people. It killed her to wound them so, but there was no other alternative. If the galaxy knew she was alive, then so wouldn't Palpatine and if she was alive then he would stop at nothing to find her, if only so he could get his hands on her children, corrupting them until there was nothing left of their innocence, of their souls.

It was a fate worse than death and if it required her demise, then so be it. Her family was strong; they would survive this pain.

"It's time." Bail said, looking at his crono.

"Thank you Bail," she said, unsure exactly what she was thanking him for; that he was going to be the one to deliver her to her family instead of some impersonal lackey who could do nothing to ease their misery? For all the help in this big, convoluted plot to hide her and the children? For not asking any question that wasn't completely necessary? Or perhaps it was for all those things and more.

"Of course, Padmé. You would have done the same for me."

She smiled a sad broken smile. The most genuine she could muster under the circumstances. Bail sighed, and Padmé looked up, knowing he had something to say, something perhaps not as kind as his last words.

"Are you sure this will work?" He asked, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible despite the uncertainty that leaked through. "If your family looks too deeply into this ruse, it will not hold up."

He wasn't the first to ask the same question. When the idea to fake her death using the same compound Obi-wan had used to foil a plot against then chancellor Palpatine (a plot that, in hind sight, he should have let play out) had first been introduced to the conversation, many thought it would not work. It had Padmé who had assured them of the validity of the plain.

"If I did not tell them, they will not look into it. They would not invade my privacy in such a way, especially in death."

Most other cultures did not understand Naboo in that respect. They did not understand how nobody on that planet seemed to care about scandal or anything of the like; how the local press never printed stories of public officials cheating on their spouses or anything of the sort.

The people of The Naboo were a privet people. If it did not affect anyone else and did not lead to harm, then it was no one else's business what anyone did. Her family would not violate that, not out of mere curiosity. She hoped.

She could not put them in any more danger. Not for her sins.

Bail looked as if he wanted to ask again, to ask if she was sure, but he thought better of it, and for that Padmé was grateful. The truth was that, no, she wasn't sure. She wasn't really sure about anything anymore. The last few days had shaken every truth she had once held sacred.

Her entire life had shattered on that hellish world and she was too surrounded by the ash of what had once been her world to find anything left in the wreckage. There was nothing left of her old life to comfort her. Even her children were worlds away, waiting with Obi-wan and Ahsoka, so she had nothing to pull close and hold in an attempt to keep herself together.

She mentally cursed herself. Of all the times for her to fall apart…

The numbness and shock that had defined her being over the last few days was melting away, vaporized as if it had never been to begin with. All the pain, all the betrayal, all the agony, was all crushing down on her with the weight of a disintegrating battle cruiser.

Her breath came faster and in smaller burst and she could feel her chest constricting. It like she couldn't breathe; couldn't move, couldn't think.

"Padmé?" Bail asked, crossing the room when he saw her distress.

"Why?" She asked, burring her head into his shoulder, not expecting an answer. She wasn't really sure what question she was asking anyways. Why did this have to happen? Why did she have to hurt her family so? Why, after all she had sacrificed to the greater good, could she not have that one thing for herself? Why couldn't Anakin…

Her breaths got shallower and shallower as her mind raced.

Bail grabbed her shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. Even through her emotional state, Padmé could tell that he was frightened for her. That this breakdown was so out of character for her, and he wasn't sure what he could do to comfort her against the tide of madness and agony.

"Padmé, I know it hurts and I couldn't even image the agony you are going through right now, but you are one of the strongest people I know. You are stronger than this tragedy. You are strong enough to survive this."

Padmé dried her eyes and looked at him rather surprised. Here he was comforting her despite all the lies she had told and the secrets she had kept. More than that, he was putting his life and more on the line to help her and her family.

He had always been a good friend despite the fact that Padmé had always kept him at arm's length. She had allowed none of her friends from the senate to become any closer than professional friends. Yet that didn't seem to matter to him and for that she was truly thankful.

After a moment collecting herself, she looked up and asked the only question her heavy tongue would allow.

"It's time, isn't it?" She said, fingering the vial.

Bail gave a sad little smile and nodded, and Padmé could hear the unspoken 'I'm sorry' resting beneath the surface.

She pulled the cork out and gave a weak, ironic little smile of her own.

"Cheers."

The now ex-senator downed the contents and knew no more.

* * *

Moments like these had always been some of the less savory in the life of a Jedi but Obi-wan had accepted them as a natural extension of his role as a peace keeper. Sometimes prisoners had to be interrogated and sometimes he knew the prisoner personally. That didn't make it any easier for him to see Captain Rex—a man Obi-wan had long regarded as a personal friend—securely tied to a chair in cargo hold of the Tantive IV.

"Why were you going to kill me?" Ahsoka demanded, unable to keep the anger out of her voice as she leaned against a supply crate. Obi-wan looked at her out of the corner of his eye and could not help but wonder if he should worry about this anger rising within her. He could not watch her fall...and yet, given the circumstances, wasn't it only natural for the child to be more then a little angry?

Rex looked up at her, his face the blank and unreadable mask of a professional soldier but, underneath it all, Obi-wan sensed something. Defiance and a hint of remorse and he wasn't sure quite what those emotions meant for the issue at hand.

"I was following orders." He spoke as if it were the only explanation needed and for another clone it might be, but not for Obi-wan. The Jedi master needed to be able to make at least a little since of _something _that had happened over the past few days and this seemed to be the one thing he was likely to get an answer for.

"Who's orders?" Rex clenched his jaw and lock his teeth in defiance and a small trickle of terror spread down Obi-wan's spine. He almost didn't want an answer in fear that it would be the one he couldn't take.

How had he missed this as well? How many of his friends had been willing to give up everything they had once believed in? How many had just been waiting in the shadows to stab him in the back?

For a second he closed his eyes and attempted to let his building anger flow into the Force. It was a difficult task, even for him, but not impossible. Once his mind was free and clear of the darkness, he could listen to the whispering voice of the light and it was telling him something rather interesting.

Rex hadn't answered Obi-wan's question but there was something resting underneath the surface. A subtle current—of doubt, perhaps?-that even the Captain may not have noticed.

Obi-waved a hand in front of the clone's face and reached out with the Force, imposing a little more of his will upon the man's mind then was strictly necessary but not enough to cause damage.

"You want to answer all our questions."

"I want to answer all your questions."

"You want to tell the truth."

"I want to tell the truth."

the moment Rex's mind was sufficiently pliable, Ashoka stepped forward, and Obi-wan noticed a hardness to her eyes that did not really belong there. She put her hands on Rex's thighs and leaned forward until not even a single piece of flimsplast could fit between her nose and his.

"Who. Gave. The. Order?" she hissed, her voice taking on a dangerous, hunting tone. "Tell us. Tell us now!"

"Ashoka." Obi-wan snapped. Her head snapped sideways, looking at him; she met his eyes and then looked down, understanding the warning and chastisement there.

"It was the Emperor." Rex said. Had Obi-wan not been so worried about what this little outburst might mean for Ashoka, he would have breathed a sigh of relief at the answer, but it would appear the Force had already met it's quota of small blessings for the day, and this one would not come free.

How long had it been since he heard those exact words fall from Anakin's lips as they were watching a bounty hunter die on the streets outside a Courisanti club? Had that been the first sign he did not see or had there been others? How many chances had Anakin given him to save him and he just hadn't seen it?

And what did that mean for his apprentice?

Ahsoka removed her hands and turned to face the door, rubbing her upper arms, looking so vulnerable and for a second Obi-wan was ashamed of himself. It was easy to forget that her world was crumbling just as much as his was and she was, in many ways, just a youngling.

"Were you actually going to kill me?" She asked, almost whispering.

There were a few painful seconds of silence in which Obi-wan could feel her pain as if it were his own, twisting and constricting around his heart.

"I don't think so, no." Rex whispered almost just as softly.

Obi-wan reached out with the Force, checking that their prisoner was still under compulsion to tell the truth.

Ahsoka glanced at Obi-wan out almost imperceptibly, but he had worked with her enough to catch the micro-expression plastered across her face. She was asking if Rex was still under the Jedi Master's control. If he was still under compulsion to tell the truth.

He nodded, not bothering to hide his actions from Rex's sight and Ahsoka took a deep, calming breath as she stood there in the doorway as if she were stone. Obi-wan got and put a hand on her shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

"Why don't you go see if Master Yoda requires your assistance with anything?" They both knew the suggestion to be more then a command from a Master to a Padawan; it was an out, an excuse for her to get away if that's what she needed.

Surprisingly she did not argue, she merely nodded and gave Obi-wan a loaded look, her eyes communicating more thanks then the simple act deemed necessary.

Once the door closed behind her, Obi-wan turned back to face Rex. "Now, where were we?"

* * *

"It's not safe, is it?" Padmé asked, staring out the window of the small cruiser that was to carry them to their next destination. Her hand twitched, desperate to hold on to something anything to keep herself together—to fill the cold void that had settled in her heart and would not go away. Ideal one of her children would be in her arms right now but they were all napping to peacefully to be disturbed. "All of us being together, I mean?"

She was grateful really, that after her initial refusal neither Yoda nor Obi-wan had brought up the suggestion to separate her children again. Yoda hadn't liked it, he had pressed his old, wizened lips together and sighed when she had made it clear that she wouldn't consent. It wasn't hard to see that he was worried she was throwing away the galaxy's best hope at redemption, but he didn't seem to be worried enough to forgo self imposed exile on a swamp world no one had really heard of.

Padmé's fears were of the same thing, but she was more worried about the fates of her children then what they could possibly do in the future. The rational part of her that had spent so long in the arena fighting with words and innuendos worried if she was not dooming them all by her stubbornness. Padmé doubted that she would ever say it aloud, but she had considered their words, even if only for the briefest instant. In the end, however, she could not do it and it was not just because the children would need one another...it was because she needed them now that Anakin was dead and the Republic was burning. They were the stitching in her seems; the only thing that kept her together.

"It's a risk we're going to have to take. The children need protecting." Obi-wan said as lightly as he could muster.

Padmé looked over at him and knew that he felt as dead inside as she had. It was so easy to forget that she wasn't the only one hurting, feeling the absence of the bright, all consuming star that had so easily pulled in everyone around him.

"And the captain?" she asked motioning to the cockpit, where both Rex and Ahsoka sat, in an effort to change the subject, "is he an undue risk?"

"I don't think so. He says he had his doubts about following orders and the Force tells me he is being truthful." Even to a non-force sensitive it was clear that he had his doubts. He was beginning to second guess his instincts. But then again, weren't they all questioning the very fabric of their realities now that everything was twisted and burnt?

"How did it come to this?" She whispered, unable to bring herself to be more specific.

"I don't know," Obi-wan said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder as he joined her near the window, "And I don't think we ever will."

* * *

Okay, so it's a bit of a filler chapter, and a bit short. Sorry, but next chapter should make up for it. Here's a bit of a spoiler: you get another piece to the puzzle of just how the two worlds are connected.


	5. A Nuna or the Knife

Sacrifices

Chapter Four

A Nuna or the Knife

* * *

The law of sacrifice is uniform throughout the world. To be effective it demands the sacrifice of the bravest and the most spotless.  
~Mahatma Gandhi

* * *

Sweat trickled down Canaan's brow and into his eyes, obscuring his vision as he stared at his opponent. He knew he would not win this battle—the dark haired man in front of him was too skilled and too experienced for the outcome to be anything less—but he would not consed easily. He took a deep breath, inhaling the rhythm of the fight and lunged.

His saber did not find its quarry. By the time it had reached its mark, his target had already force-sprinted to the other side of the room. He turned, only to see Master Marek standing there, a wide grin plastered across his wrinkled face.

The old man was playing with him, silently teasing his lack of skill. Canaan narrowed his eyes and charged, letting just a little bit of his anger and frustration seep into his movements. Canaan had been beaten many times by many people and Galen Marek had always made sure that, while he never set out to injure the younger man, he sure as hell never coddled him.

That's not where the frustration came from. Although his attention was firmly on the sparing session at hand, he could not, in all honesty, say the same for his emotions. His personal relationship with that other world was a rather mixed one; in that world no one looked at him as less then he should be or saw him only as a reminder of an ugly tragedy, but that was only because, in that twisted mockery of his world, everyone had much worse problems to deal with.

Canaan had actually been relieved when he stopped being transported to that hellhole, and yet here he was, forced to go back. It might just be worse this time around. This time he didn't have the naive innocence that had made it bearable before. Now that he understood how all the pieces fit together, understood how all the horrible things were necessary in the end, he knew he could do nothing to change it.

And that was the real curse.

Galen moved towards him, his saber thrusts brutal and efferent. This was not a battle in which Canaan could afford to let his mind wonder, this battle he had to fight on instinct, trusting the Force to tell him his opponents next move before he made it. The Force, however, didn't pound war drums behind his ears.

There were those who compared lightsaber duels to some of the most intricate dances in the universe and they would not be wrong. Each blow and perry was another note in a brilliant cacophony of buzzing and, if the skills of the opponents were matched close enough, labored breathing would join in as the base line to that particular song.

There was almost no music in this match.

Canaan could feel his frustration build as every blow failed to find its mark. Master Marek was good, but he was getting on in years and that, along with the fact that Canaan had trained with him since his hands were too small to hold a lightsaber with any measure of precision, should have allowed him to land at least one blow. He should have been able to predict at least some of the master's moves, and yet it was he that was getting read like sheet music.

The hum of his opponents lightsaber whorled, cuing him to the man's next move. Canaan ducked, using the force to side under the weapon; he could feel the heat from the saber mere centimeters from his face and knew what was coming next. The master's second saber came down in a vicious arch, aiming to land in the space between Canaan's shoulder blades.

Timed slowed as the metronome ticked in half time. In one fluid motion, he swung his knees backwards until only the tips of his fingers supported his weight and then pushed against the padded ground. Within half a second, Canaan was well out of the reach of Galen's saber.

But not, apparently out of reach of other forms of attack.

Canaan was unable to reflect the blue stream of energy in time. The lightning landed and stung like a swarm of insects nipping at his exposed flesh, but did no real damage. It was enough, however, to make the winner of this bout clear.

Canaan deactivated his lightsaber and gave a respectful little bow.

"Really, Force lightning?" He teased, walking over to the small table in the corner that held their personal effects.

Galen just shrugged as if it were nothing—as if it were a move so instinctual he must have been doing it since childhood. That was the first warning bell and the echo of Kali's words were the second: _Do you really think that? Ask them the next time you get a chance._

"How much do you remember?" He hoped Galen didn't hear the struggle to keep his tone casual, but there was no guarantee.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," he said, reaching for a bottle of water and taking a long draft.

"Of the other world."

Galen's sputtering as he tried to dislodge the water from his lungs would normally be enough of a conformation for Canaan, but for this he wanted to hear the words. He looked at the older man, his eyes demanding an answer and daring a lie.

"Luke once said it was like a bad holo he had seen a few too many times," he said sitting down the water, "and I can't say he's wrong."

"How long have you known?" Canaan asked, grabbing the edge of the table for support, his head spinning.

Galen sighed. "Since we were twenty-four."

"So my entire life?" Canaan snapped, "and you didn't mention it once?"

"What makes you think we were keeping it form _you?" _His tone was even but there was no mistaking the challenge in his voice.

Canaan looked over, his brow furrowing slightly. His mind spun, tangling this thoughts up in a binding web that just would not let him go. Who else could he be talking about? If they all remembered, then why would be be so important to keep it a secret? Who else but him would be effected...?

That was a selfish way to think of things and he shook it off. After all, how many cards had he kept close to the chest just so no one else had to see the gory pictures? Now that he knew they remembered, the real question was how was it possible.

He took a deep breathe, opening himself to the force and in it found the answer.

"I suppose that explains a few things," he sighed, "like why you have always been able to beat me at everything. Twice the experience I expected."

"Or maybe it's just because you suck."

Canaan turned to face the figure in the doorway, recognizing the voice almost before he heard it. It was odd really, Canaan should have heard about it if Caz was back planetside. Those in the Jedi order tended to gossip a bit more then the outside world would guess and Castor wasn't the kind of person to go unnoticed. He dressed more like a smuggler then a Jedi; he carried blasters as well as his lightsaber and was more likely to use them in a fight...but he was hardly the first or only one to chose such garb.

"I didn't even feel your approach through the Force," Canaan admitted, giving the slightly younger man a hug.

"That's because I'm awesome and you really need to practice." Caz smirked, the corners of his mouth turning up into what Canaan had heard descried as his trademark serial killer grin.

"I see being assigned as Lucky's padawan hasn't instilled you with any more humility." Canaan said and Caz snorted. Lucky Skywalker and humility had about as much in common as Mustifar and Hoth.

"But really, you were more dancing then fighting. Tell me you didn't have the beat from some of the screechy Machivian rock song playing in the back of your head."

Canaan pressed his lips, desperate to hid his embarrassment but it didn't work. Caz saw right through him. He always did.

Canaan had been so caught up in welcoming his friend home that he hadn't notice Galen pack up and head towards the door, obviously attempting to give the young men some privacy. Halfway out the door he stopped and looked back, eying the brown eyed young man intently.

"Castor?" Galen said, his voice laced with every modicum of authority his position afforded him. "I expect you to apologize."

"I will," Caz looked at the older man, his face as impassive as if he had just been asked to pick up a carton of blue milk. "When I mean it."

Galen's eyes narrowed, knowing as well as anyone that in Caz speak that that answer was much closer to 'never' then he would have liked. For a moment Canaan was sure he would say something, perhaps enough to start an argument, but to his surprise, Galen's lips just knit together in a deep frown as he walked out the door in silence.

"What are you two fighting about now?" Canaan asked, turning back to get his things.

Caz perched himself on the edge of the table and scoffed dismissively. "Same thing as always."

Canaan stopped, his fingers centimeters from his cloak and turned to look at him. It was no secret that things between those two had been a bit _strained _over the last few years, and there was little surprise given the circumstances, but Canaan had never really gotten the full story. Perhaps it was kind of selfish, but he had hoped that he would be the one Caz would most likely confide in, particularly because he had never asked the same question almost everyone else had demanded: Why?

Caz shifted slightly under the uncomfortable gaze, but Canaan would not break eye contact.

"Let's just say that I didn't appreciate the fact that, while I was gone, Mom forgot that I wasn't an only child." Caz whispered, trying so hard to sound nonchalant.

"Caz,"

"Hey you want to catch a Holo tonight?" Caz asked, hoping off the table and smiling at Canaan. The attempt to change the subject was obvious, but Caz's face revealed nothing. It was only the gentle whisperings in the force that told Canaan just how much he was silently begging for him to drop the subject. "They have that new one out—the one that's supposedly based on Master Skywalker and the Chancellor's romance."

"Why do you even bother with that trash?" Canaan asked, his words a peace offering promising not to press the issue again for a while at least. "They never get it right and it's not like they have a clue about the good stuff..."

Caz snickered as they made their way to the door. "I know. It's hilarious."

"I can't. Kali's got a doctor's appointment and I need to be there." Canaan said, the laughter in his voice only partially masking the undercurrents of something a bit darker.

"Stop that."

"What?" Canaan said, stopping.

"The self doubt. You'll be fine but if you think you need practice why not settle down and have a family the traditional Jedi way? You're old enough for a padawan."

"Like I'm not going to have enough on my plate soon enough."

Caz shrugged, his sharp grin spreading across his face. "If anything you at least have someone to look after the little brat when you and Kali want some alone time."

Canaan rolled his eyes with so much force he gave himself a headache."I'm not getting a padawan just for an on call babysitter."

"Besides there are those who could teach a kid a lot more then me." his hand tightened around the handle of his lightsabor, the coarse metal digging into his hand.

Caz reached his arm out, forcing Canaan to stop, one of the big stone pillars of the temple's entry way blocking them from the eyes of the handful of Jedi out and about, most of which really had no interest in what they were talking about. Canaan still appreciated the illusion of privacy, though.

"What's this really about?"

"What do you mean?"

Caz narrowed his eyes, making it clear both in and out of the Force that his patients was quickly being ground down to nothing. Playing coy when it came to his powers was an innate defense mechanism for Canaan. He had spent so much time and energy trying to deftly sidestep as many questions about that world as possible (which was more difficult then one would expect given how many politicians he knew) that he found it hard to open up even to Caz.

But as always, Caz would have none of his shit.

"They may not have been official padawans, but how many younglings have you taught? Add them all up it adds up to more successful apprenticeships then most of the council."

"That's different."

"How?" Caz asked, the single word daring him to lie. Canaan couldn't answer; not truthfully. It was just one of those things he knew but couldn't put into words. He hadn't really been teaching anyone anything; he had smuggled a few data chips and holocrans across time and space to a few kids who had no clue what the hell they were doing. The few lessons he had actually taught had mostly just been him parroting back what he had learned in class that day.

He was far from real master material.

"Now really, what's this about?"

Canaan sighed, knowing Caz would not return the courtesy by dropping the subject. "They all remember the other world."

"Yeah, and?"

How could he say something like that? An hour ago Canaan would have sworn that he would have been one of the ones who understood the most.

"Don't tell me you're surprised?" Caz asked, his voice for once losing that cocky and decisive note that seemed to be his default tone.

"Surprised that every sacrifice was for nothing?" he whispered, an odd combination of incredulity and agony seeping into every syllable.

Despite the five centimeter height advantage Canaan had, Caz had no trouble pining his shoulders to the smooth behind him.

"Life requires sacrifice," he hissed, for the first time actually sounding angry, "you must always lay something on the alter and pray you are blessed with something better in return. You were asked to give up precious little, but those who were not so lucky are more then happy with their bargains. So quit your bitching. It's unbecoming and self depreciation is only attractive in teen lit."

The tension between them was so thick not even a hutt could have crawled through. They just stood there for what seemed an eternity, neither moving or speaking, until Caz did what he always did best: he saw deeper into the situation, dissecting every little hint and nuance until he got to the heart of it all.

"But there's more to it then that."

There wasn't a question in his worlds. Caz let go and Canaan stood, rubbing his shoulders where Caz's fingers had almost made permanent impressions in his flesh.

"It's started again."

Caz looked down and frowned, a strange sort of pity playing across his face. "I'm sorry."

"I had just thought it was all done with."

Caz looked out at the bustling cityscape and, for once, let his mental shields drop until Canaan could see every thought in that twisted head of his. There were trillions of beings in the galaxy, all pretty much doing the same in an attempt to actually live their lives. Among those trillions a million or so Force sensitives, destined to be set apart. Of those, maybe twenty thousand were accepted into the Jedi order. Even after over half a century of the ban on attachments being lifted, there were maybe a hundred legacy Jedi in the temple.

Only two had powers like theirs and those powers did not come without a cost. There was a great amount of responsibility that went along with it.

"I doubt fate will ever stop asking things of us. Even if you understand its reasoning a bit more now."

For a brief instant Canaan wondered when Canaan had come to terms with it. He spoke as if he had lost something because of his gift—lost more then Canaan—but Canaan couldn't really see how...then again, Canaan never really understood what Caz was capable of when he slept. Perhaps Caz himself didn't know.

"Don't worry, you won't be alone."

"You're going to start slipping int my dreams again?" Canaan muttered,"At least it's only you can do it."

Caz scoffed,"For the most part it's a force technique, not a gift. I could teach most of the people we know how to do it..."

"But you won't."

"It would be a waist of time. They respect your privacy too much to intrude without permission."

"And you don't?" Canaan asked, more accusation then a question.

Caz looked at him and gave him a crooked little smile and a disturbing thought whispered behind his ears. With all this talk of sacrifice, what was Caz supposed to be? A nuna or the knife?

"Not on your life."

* * *

"So you're leaving?" Marta asked. She didn't even bother to open her dark eyes as she nuzzled her face deeper into the thin, doubled over pillow of the dinky hotel.

It was far from the first time they had met like this over the years, and yet it didn't stop a diaphanous layer of ice from forming under his skin. This time was different; he had known that when he had got her message. He hadn't mentioned it as they had had their fun; the doubt and apprehension was discarded on the floor along with their clothing, weapons, and whatever bits of furniture hadn't been bolted down.

But now it was time to face what he knew was coming.

Caz paused, his fingers just brushing the top of his discarded pants. "You're the one who gave me the ultimatum."

Honestly what else had she expected—that he would leave the Jedi order for her? If it had just been the Jedi order, if he had just been one of those poor sods they found as a youngling on some backwater planet, there would have been no question; he would have turned in his lightsaber and it would have been just her and him against the galaxy.

He wasn't particularly fond of the Jedi as an institution even now, half a century after the rewriting of the code to allow attachments, the order was still too bogged down in bureaucracy, too tied to the whims of the senate (although, considering one of the highest ranking council members is married to the Chancellor, it was hardly surprising). The Force was a spiritual thing, helping each being who could and would listen to it find their path, but the true path wasn't always with the Jedi.

Caz knew he wasn't the first to have these kinds of thoughts, there were dozens of people who had left the order over the years, looking for their own answers.

But for him the solution was so much more complicated then that. Unlike most Jedi, he had a family to think of.

His entire family, save for a few of those who had married into it, were Jedi. The Force flowed more thickly in his veins then blood. If he were to chose to forsake the order it, they would support his decision, but his life with Marta would not be compatible with theirs. She was one of the best and most brutal bounty hunters in the galaxy and, as a profession, it was not uncommon for bounty hunters to take jobs that were less then legal or ethical by Republic standards. If he were to chose that life, he would eventually lose his family.

He could not lose them—not again. And Marta, well although he would never ask that of her, he knew she would not be able to give up the life she loved, even for him.

And so they were at an impasse and they both knew it. She had just been the first to voice the truth.

"Why did you leave them if you always intended to come back?"

Caz sighed. Explaining the Force was one thing, although she wasn't Force sensitive, she at least had some idea of what it was. His gift was a whole different story. He understood it—barely—but not enough to explain to another Jedi, let alone someone like Marta. The only reason Canaan understood as much as he did was that he was in something of the same boat.

"You knew it was temporary." He said, his fingers instinctively finding the pendant he always wore around his neck, the one that someone, many years ago, had hollowed out to make room for a miniaturized holo photo projector.

How many times had Marta caught him staring at the pictures it contained and longing to return home, but knowing that his self-imposed exile wasn't quite up yet?

"Until it wasn't." She muttered and Caz really couldn't argue.

He clipped his saber to his belt and began shifting through the mess of weapons on the table, trying to differentiate his blasters from hers.

"Castor," she said and he turned, a little confused. In all the years he had known her, she had never once said his full name.

"I'm..." she began and Caz could already feel the weight to her words. But she sighed, closed her eyes, and burred her face back into the pillow. "Have a good life."

He gave a small, sad smile. "Yeah, you too."

There was silence for a moment, his mind wondering to the past and everything they had had. The missions they went on together, the good times. How he had spent her sixteenth lifeday worshiping her, licking frosting from every inch of her body.

"Marta, you know you can call me for anything right? Whatever you need." And he wasn't just offering her a way to scratch a physical itch. He meant every word.

She scoffed, more then a little hurt, and that little noise told Caz everything her silence hadn't. _I know, but I won't. _

He stared at her for a moment, desperately wanting to say the words he knew she would not want to hear, but he could not bring himself to do it. That's just not how their relationship worked. They pretended it was all sex and blaster fire but they both knew otherwise; if it had really just been physical, parting wouldn't be so hard.

He grabbed a cheep stylo and a discarded advertisement from the wastepaper basket, and flipped it over, quickly scribbled a quick note. The light colored flimsyplast stood out against the black of her custom blasters, where he set the not, sure she would see it.

It was the only goodbye he could stand to leave her, and yet he could no more silently part from her then he could stay. _"Never question that I always loved you and I always will."_

As he walked towards the door he grasped his pendant again as if it were a set of prayer beads and rubbed his fingers across material, the intricate designs long worn smooth.

His steps stilled and with one swift motion he unhooked the clasp and held the weight of it in his hands. It was his most prized possession, irreplaceable and unique. For a long time it had been the one reminder he had of his family, the one bit of evidence that he had had a family at all. It had been his connection to the thing he loved most.

Caz could feel Marta looking him through her hair, pretending to still be asleep, but he did not—could not— acknowledge her. He just set the Japor snippet down on top the note and forced himself to leave before he changed his mind.

* * *

Quick note. The parts of the story that take place in the "good" world are actually the last act of Canaan's story. I have to do it that way because the last act of his story is what is relevant to the first part of what's going on in the "bad" world. Eventually though, it will circle around to when he's younger. You will get to see the first time he got to meddle and why things are strained with Caz and his family. So it's okay if you don't understand a hundred percent of what's going on. It will pay out in the long run.


	6. In Which Not All Nightmares Sleep

Sacrifices

Chapter Five

In Which Not All Nightmares Sleep

* * *

Perhaps I know best why it is man alone who laughs; he alone suffers so deeply that he had to invent laughter.  
~Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

Padmé woke, her eyes snapping open with more vigor then she usually had over the course of a week. One thought kept pounding in her mind with such force that it threatened to break its way through her skull. The children. The children. Find the children.

She lunged for the edge of the bed, her legs tangling in the thick comforter, sending her tumbling to the cold wooden floor but she didn't actually hit the floor...at least not most of her. Three small voices of surprise cried out as she realized just what had broken her fall. It was the children. All of them. Here, safe.

Her dark eyes blinked several times as she stared, her mind not quite registering the sight. They were here. They were safe.

She pulled them close, ignoring the way Luke's Capetian Universe sleep suit itched against her bear arms and encased them all in an almost bone crushing hug. They did not protest. Quite the contrary, the tighter she held them, the tighter they held her back.

"What were you doing in my bed? Did one of you have a nightmare?" she asked, trying desperately not to let the residual panic slip into her voice.

It was a foolish question really. They were so bounded together that, on the few occasions one of them had woken up screaming, the others had as well. Obi-wan had told her of similar bonds amongst the few cases of siblings that had been admitted into the Jedi order, but none of them had been anything quite like this. Perhaps it could be attributed to who their father is—_was—_or perhaps it could have to do with them being triplets; maybe it was more a combination of those factors. Either way it only reaffirmed her decision not to separate them, not that it had been much of a decision at all.

Three pairs of eyes looked up at her, two clearest blue and one rich brown, and she knew she did not have them fooled.

"No. You." Luke said.

"We make it go away." Leia chimed in, almost unable to allow her brother the only words.

Padmé pressed her hand to her mouth. Why did they have to be so perceptive? Why couldn't they just stay innocent and oblivious forever? It was bad enough that the fall of the Republic (and the events surrounding it) had cost them their father, they did not need to know how much it had cost them of their mother as well.

This was never how it was supposed to be. She had chosen to fight—to live—so that she could take care of them. So that she could be strong for them. But honestly, it was the children that were keeping her together.

Once, on the dieing world of Et-ka-to she had encountered a sight that had never really left her. The statue had, at one point, been considered one of the greatest wonders of the galaxy. A single structure, two hundred meters high carved out of a single stalagmite of crystal occupied a comparatively small cave in the side of a mountain.

A few centuries before her visit, however, a natural disaster had caused the entire weight of the mountain to fall upon the statue. Amazingly enough, despite being mostly buried, the statue had looked almost perfect. Padmé had asked their guide why no one had ever attempted to dig it out and preserve it.

By not digging it out, they were preserving it. The disaster had damaged it; causing so crack into pieces, many no bigger then a human finger. The weight of the mountain was so great, however, the it kept the pieces from falling out of place and the statue from crumbling into little more then sand.

She was the statue now—seemingly fine on the outside, but unable to keep herself together save for the weight of her children.

"There you are," a voice said from the door way, "younglings, why don't go and eat and then we can start your lessons?"

Luke nodded vigorously at Ahsoka's suggestion, his blond curls bouncing against his face. He all but ran out the door and to the kitchen, excited by the duel prospect of food and Jedi training. Leia followed after him, not even bothering to hide the fact that she was just as excited.

Lori, however, didn't move. She looked up at Padmé, her eyes clear and focused, silently asking if she would be alright; if Padmé no longer needed her strength.

Padmé sighed at her daughter's in-ignorable and preferred mode of communication.

For a while she had been deathly afraid that the complications surrounding Lori's birth had in some way stunted her mental development. Luke had said his first word just after his first birthday and Leia started just after that, picking up words faster then her brother until she had left him in the dust, forming much more complex sentences. But Lori was different, by their second birthday, she had uttered nary a peep and Padmé had almost driven her mad with worry. She had tearfully confessed her fears to Obi-wan late one night when she thought the children were asleep.

Lori had been sitting in her crib, watching. A few seconds after Padmé had made her fears known, Lori's stuffed gundark came flying out the crib.

"Momma, Nunie," she said pointing to her toy. Still in shocked surprise Padmé picked it up and handed it to her,

"Anke ou" Lori said in thanks and snuggled up to the toy. "Night-night."

After that it became clear that Lori preferred to watch those around her, quietly absorbing more information then Padmé would have liked. She was the one most likely to realize that their lifeday had a much more melancholy undertone to the adults and Padmé hated that. The kids deserved this day to be about them rather then ghosts, but it would probably never be something she could give them.

"Go baby," Padmé whispered, kissing the top of her head.

Lori narrowed her eyes a bit, the expression shouting _are you sure?_

Padmé nodded and after a pronounced hesitation, Lorme totted off after her siblings.

Ashoka waited until she was well out of ear shot to say anything. "Are you alright?" she asked gently, most likely already knowing the answer.

Padmé leaned back against the bed frame and closed her eyes. She had barely been out of bed five minutes and already she was exhausted again. If it hadn't have been for the lingering ghost of the nightmare and how much the day meant to the children, she would have attempted to craw back in bed and forget the sun had even risen.

"It's just a bad day." she muttered.

Ahsoka sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers knitted together as she leaned her elbows against her knees. Padmé opened one eye and saw that the young woman looked about as bad as she felt, tired and worn.

"It's a bad day for everyone." Ahsoka muttered and Padmé knew she was right. On a day like today there was little chance for it to be anything else.

* * *

By the time Padmé had showered and gotten dressed breakfast had been well cleared away. That was fine with her; she was far too upset to eat much anyway.

She had stayed in the shower until the nothing but ice fell on her as she pressed the rag to her face, desperate to keep anyone in the house from hearing her screams as she relived the nightmare over and over again.

The duel between Obi-wan and Anakin played out before her eyes as if she had been watching it instead of unconscious. Oh how they had fought and oh how she had screamed; begging them to stop before one of them killed the other but neither had heard her. The fighting continued and eventually they found themselves on a bank of black glass. Obi-wan had the high ground but Anakin lunged, flipping over the man's head. He did not make it. With a few modest strokes of Ob-wan's lightsaber, Anakin's renaming flesh limbs had been severed and he fell to the burning sands below, fire inching towards him...

but Obi-wan did nothing to help him. He did nothing but scream and although Padmé could not make out the words, the agony behind them was more then apparent. Fire began burning Anakin alive, chairing his skin and burning his heart to ash and all Obi-wan did was turn away.

"You haven't seen Leia anywhere lately, have you?" Ahsoka asked, pulling Padmé out of her thoughts.

"No, not since I sent them out here with you. Why?"

Ahsoka gave a pleased little smile at her denial and Padmé couldn't help but wonder what she was up to.

"We're playing hide and go seek as a way for them to practice keeping their force signatures masked."

"How are they doing?" According to Obi-wan, masking one's force signature was a slightly more advanced technique then was generally taught to such children, but given their abilities and how absolutely necessary it was that they not be found, the lesson and been introduced early. It had been Ahsoka who introduced the idea of a game to keep their attention and Padmé was rather impressed with how it was coming along.

"Apparently Leia is better then I thought, and Lori's about where she should be..."

"And Luke?" Padmé asked, taking a sip of her tepid caff.

Ahsoka shook her head. "He just doesn't get it."

"Maybe you should get Obi-wan and Rex to help look." She said before noticing that she hadn't seen one of those men today. "Speaking of, where's Rex?"

"He went into town to get some last minute supplies for the-" but Ahsoka didn't get to finish her thought. A small clanging was heard from the ventilation shaft over the refrigeration unit as two small hands pushed the grate out of the way and Leia stuck her head down, her long brown hair pooling on the top of the unit.

"Party?" Leia asked.

"How did—" Padmé muttered but stopped. There was no point asking with these little ones.

"Actually I was going to say ship, but he might pick up something for you guys." Ahsoka sniped.

Padmé walked over to the edge of the unit, ready to catch the girl as she attempted to climb down. But the child did not need her help. As always she was fearless.

"Yes princess," Padmé said, taking her hand once she reached the floor "he's getting things for your lifeday party."

"Cake?" she asked, her eyes wide, and Padmé almost had to physically restrain herself from snorting.

Padmé nodded. "and presents. Now why don't you go play while we get ready? Rex should be back soon."

"Why am I not surprised that Skyguy's kids are more interested in the food then anything else?" Ashoka mused, her voice only slightly weary, causing Padmé's already fragile smile to drop.

"I see so much of him in them."

"That's not a bad thing," Ahsoka replied, her mind undoubtedly going through the same comparisons as Padmé's had many times before.

Luke was constantly on the move and the more dangerous an activity was the more he seemed to enjoy it. Leia was willful, stubborn and passionate and, even at such a young age, Lori had that same intensity of spirit that had first drew Padmé to their father upon their reuniting after the assassination attempt along with is innate desire to fix everything. The same desire that had damned him.

As much as those were the very traits she had loved in Anakin and as happy as she was that some part of him lived on, the comparisons terrified her. Most of her other nightmares were about her children, yellow eyed and lost.

She wanted to think that it was impossible—that her children could never become like that—but she had said the same about Anakin before his death. One thing was for sure, Palpateen would only get his slimy hands on them over her cold and truly dead corps.

* * *

"What do you want to bet they make a mess?," Rex muttered, watching the children huddled around the cake.

Obi-wan smiled. "I'm not foolish enough to take that bet."

"I wish first!" Leia demanded, pushing her brother out the way, trying to get to the candles.

"I bigger." Luke protested.

Padmé picked up a protesting Leia and placed her two seats down, using quiet little Lori as a buffer between the more rambunctious of her siblings.

"You are all going to wish at the same time. Don't worry you all have your own candles."

Leia nodded but stuck her tongue out at Luke the moment Padmé's back was turned. Her gesture did not go unnoticed and for a brief second she reminded Obi-wan of himself during Anakin's younger days; infinitely tired and frustrated but at the same time enjoying every moment of it.

The reminder of his lost brother hurt more then he was willing to say but then again, most things felt that way now. Anakin's presence perforated his life in a million small ways. the children all shared many of his traits but that was only the most obvious of examples. The ones that caused the most pain were much more subtle.

Every time the ship or speeder needed attention Obi-wan couldn't help but think: _if Anakin were here he'd have it done in no time. _Sometimes he would see R2 rolling around, helping C3PO trying to keep up with the children and Obi-wan would remember all the lose wire jokes he would never get to tell again.

"Next year," Padmé said, eyeing the rest of the adults in all seriousness, "they're each getting their own cake."

"Yay!" Luke said, watching his mother cut the cake.

"Tiny ones. Like cupcakes." Padmé said cutting the cake.

"Aww." The boy pouted and Obi-wan stroked his beard in an attempt to hide his simile.

Once the cake was cut and everyone had their piece, they all sat down at the table, the children sitting on the adults laps so that there was enough room.

Splat.

The sound of a generous gob of icing hitting Leia on the face hushed all conversation. Leia blinked and turned to face her brother, her face bunching up in almost murderous anger.

"Mom!" She wined, looking at Luke with almost murderous rage.

"Don't you dare!" Padmé said in warning, but it was too late. An equally generous bit of cake flew off the end of Luke's fork and hit him right between the eyes. He just stared at his fork for a few seconds, innocent confusion etched on his face.

Once Luke realized what exactly had happened, he picked up his fork and was about to launch a second projectile when Obi-wan spoke up.

"Lori," he said and the girl looked at him from where she had been quietly consuming her confection, her eyes wide and innocent. "You should not use the Force in such a way."

She had the grace to look slightly sheepish at being caught but that didn't stop her next move. In a rather impressive display, she used the Force to send several bits of icing off in all directions, hitting all the adults square in the face.

And then all hell broke out. Within moments all food had become weapons (someone had even had the bright idea to open the refrigeration unit and involve the plethora of almost inedible leftovers in their little game).

Eventually battle lines had been drawn and no one took mercy. Ahsoka and Padmé had taken Luke and Leia to one side of the table while Obi-wan, Rex, and Lori had taken shelter on the other behind the upturned table in an attempt to get more cover.

"And here I thought the war was done with," Rex said, lobbing a fist full of cake right for Ahsoka's face.

After a few glorious and gory moments, a pealing laughter rang from the walls. Luke and Leia did not stop there assault but Lori lowered her fist full of casserole and looked up at Obi-wan smiling, the biggest and most wondrous smile spread across her face.

"What is it?" he asked her, leaning down.

"My wish. Momma laughed."

Obi-wan could do nothing but stand there in the middle of that odd war zone and stare at the child in numb shock and for once in his life his legendary silver tongue could not give him the answers.

* * *

"Any news?" Obi-wan asked Rex once the kitchen had been cleaned and Padmé had left to put the children to bed.

Rex's back stiffened, his stance something distinctively like parade rest. "Vader led an attack on Kashyyyk. According to the scuttlebutt, a Jedi was killed."

Obi-wan felt a cold, slimy creature twisting around his spine. He was not arrogant enough to take all the blame for this atrocity, Anakin had made his own choices, but he still could not help but feel at least partially responsible.

There were countless things he could have done to save him from his fall, but more then that, Obi-wan had had a chance to really rid the galaxy of Vader for good. On Mustafar he could have been merciful and landed a liking blow instead of leaving him to burn alive, but he hadn't felt merciful.

When he told Padmé that Anakin was dead, he had thought it truth. For six months after that fateful duel, Obi-wan had been sure Vader had died on that black sand, consumed by the fires as surely as he had been by his own hatred, but then he saw the newscast introducing the black clad monstrosity as the Emperor's right hand.

As much as he would have liked to pretend otherwise, he knew the truth. Sidious hadn't merely reused the Sith monicker, he had salvaged what was left of his fledgling apprentice and patched him back together in a horrible parody of Grevious.

"Any idea who it was?" Ahsoka asked, her face pale.

"Kento Marek. Did you know him, Sir?"

Obi-wan closed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Not well. Our paths crossed on occasion but that was all. He left the order a few months before the end of the war."

"Why?"

Obi-wan sighed. "He and another Jedi had been secretly married and were expecting a child."

Apparently attachment was a far more common affliction amongst the Jedi then he had ever imagined and briefly he wondered how many more had done the same thing Anakin had. If it had all come to light—if the council had been notified of all the breaches of the code—would they have all been expelled when the order had already been trimmed so thin due to the war? If enough Jedi were exposed as not following the code would it at least have been partially rewritten? Or were Anakin and Kento in the sliver sized minority?

The order had never received a birth announcement but given the timing the Marek child and the triplets should be rather close in age. A part of Obi-wan was disgusted at himself for thinking it, but if Mallie hadn't been able to get away with her child, he hoped it was dead.

Obi-wan and Ahsoka had worked so hard to make sure that Vader and the Emperor didn't find the triplets to save them and the galaxy from their father's fate. Just because he was unable to do the same for other children did not mean he would wish that fate on them.

"Sir, I take it we're not going to tell the senator about this?"

"No, we can't." he said stroking his beard, "During the party was the first time those children have heard her laugh. Padmé is only now beginning to heal and move on. If she ever found out that he did not die on Mustafar—"

"What?" A sharp intake of breath from the door way silenced his words and he knew there was no way to undo the damage that had been done.

* * *

Galen cried. He didn't want to but he really wanted his Mommy and Daddy. He Mommy got in a fight with some bad people and missed a lot of nights tucking him in and his Daddy got sad when he asked about her. But he can't ask anymore.

There had been a fight. A lot of bad men had come and hurt his friends, the wookies. The really bad man, the one in black who breathed funny, he had come and hurt his Daddy. Sometimes his wookie friends would pick him up by the back of the shirt and let him hold onto their backs as they climbed up a tree.

But that's not what the bad man did. The bad man had the same powers as Galen's daddy and he used them to lift him up by the neck. Daddy screamed for Galen to run, but he was too scared and soon Daddy didn't scream any more.

The bad man had told him to follow him. He hadn't wanted to but the bad man kept the other bad men away. They had gotten on a space ship and it took them to a really big spaceship—but it didn't look like they were done putting all the pieces together.

The bad man had then put him in a tiny room and shut the door. Galen couldn't get out and it was dark and he was afraid.

When he was afraid of the dark his Mommy would humm a little song for him and stroke his hair while he tried to sleep and his Daddy would take him outside to look at the stars so he knew it wasn't all dark.

Galen sat in the corner and tried to pretend that his Mommy and Daddy were here with him.

What he didn't know was that soon he would forget them all. His Mommy. His Daddy. Everyone and everything else he had ever known.

He would even forget his own name after years of only being called by the codename Vader gave him: Starkiller. Nothing else would be important. After all, the dark has no patience for sentimentality.

But none of that was now. Now he just curled up in the corner and cried.

* * *

AN:

Sorry for the delay. Between picking up extra shifts at work, two test, having to rewrite this thing five time, and the fact that nothing particularly twisted happens in it (which is my favorite), it has been a challenge. But the next one is going to be fun. By the way, there is a line in here that is a nice bit of foreshadowing for those who care.

For those of you who don't know Galen/Starkiller is the epic embodiment of awesomeness from the Force Unleashed games and he will be playing a bigger role in later chapters, although he has made a guest appearance earlier.

I would love to hear what you guys think particularly about Lori now that a bit of her personality has gotten a chance to show.


	7. Reunions

Sacrifices

Chapter Six:

Reunions

* * *

The only family that ever horrifies you is your own.

Doug Coupland

* * *

"Still ba feel bout is, Mamma," Leia said putting her hands on her hips. Padmé groaned and rested her forehead against the controls of the stalled ship. She tried to ignore the semi-imagined note of 'I told you so' that laced the child's voice. It was just the latest in a long line of frustrations that had infested her life over the last twelve hours.

Obi-wan had lied to her, had looked her in the eyes and told her that Anakin was dead. For three years he had let her think...

But Anakin was not dead. He had survived the duel with Obi-wan...survived to become Darth Vader. That was the most confusing part of it all, the part that was the least likely. She had heard of Vader and the atrocities that monster had committed. It didn't make any sense that he and her Ani could be the same person... But then again hadn't she thought the same of him when she had first heard of him falling? Before Mustifar. Before he had tried to stran—just before everything?

After hearing the truth she had locked herself in her room and would not talk to anyone, not even the children. Eventually, Obi-wan and Ahsoka retired, knowing that there was nothing they could do or say to fix their mistake and assuming she would just cry herself to sleep.

In hindsight, Padmé had known deep down that it had been a bad idea to run. What could she do? Beyond the challenge of taking care of three extremely force-sensitive children alone, almost everyone that knew she was alive was back on Mire and, since her death had been faked, she had little resources outside of what Bail Organa provided.

One thing was for sure, as much as she wanted it, as much as everything within her screamed for Anakin, she was not foolish enough to seek out Vader. She could not risk her children like that.

Padmé got up from the cockpit and rubbed a hand through Leia's hair before walking to the engine room where Luke and Lori stood staring at the sputtering mass of metal.

"Any idea what's wrong?" No other person in the galaxy would take engineering advice from toddlers but in all likelihood they were already better mechanics then Padmé had ever been.

Luke's face screwed up in concentration.

Lori looked over at him, eyes wide, and smacked him on the shoulder. Padmé reached out to intervene, as she usually had to when Luke and Leia started fighting, but the look on Lori's face stilled her. This reaction wasn't born out of simple annoyance.

"Luke! Sho said tiny. Always tiny."

Luke looked down, understanding what Padmé did not but she didn't have time to ask. Lori turned and pointed to a single component nestled deep in the tangled mess.

"Broked." she pronounced and Padmé groaned.

Of course. Hadn't Ahsoka mentioned Rex needing to get parts for the ship. If the Shilo pins had been just cracked before take-off the engine would still be able to get them into hyperspace but, once the pins buckled under pressure and actually shattered, they were screwed. Padmé had been lucky to get enough warning to manually pull the ship out of hyperspace before things really got ugly.

They were going to have to land and get it fixed. There was no other way.

Padmé walked back to the cockpit, the children following, and looked at the navi computer, trying to find a safe place to land, a place that was close enough but still had a relatively low imperial presence. No such luck. The only place for almost a parsec was...

Her blood ran cold. Of all the places for them to be stranded it had to be the middle of the Chommell sector. She quickly did the math in her head, trying to find another option. Something. Anything. The next closest planet was Tatooine but covering that distance with only the sublight engines would take far too long. They would run out of supplies well before anyone could come to help.

She let out a string of curse words as her heart constricted. Naboo was her home and she had missed it. More then that though, she missed her family. It had killed her to fake her death, to hurt them so, and yet to be so close and unable to see them would be complete torture.

And, of course, there was the fact that she was an extremely recognizable figure, even before her death. Being seen could only bring about disaster for she had little doubt that if Palpateen had spy everywhere, his home planet had to be infested.

But she had no choice. Maybe with a good enough disguise, it would be enough. It would have to be.

* * *

The dark is generous but there were days when Darth Vader was sure it wasn't generous enough. In truth though it would never be enough. The nightmares still came, haunting him, teasing him with what might have been and yet could never be. Worse then that, the cold embrace of the dark didn't keep what was left of that fool Skywalker from noticing little things during the day that mirrored his hellish nights.

Like that boy. It had been a simple enough choice to take him away from the smoldering ruins of his home. Not many had the strength to call a lightsaber right out of the hands of a Sith Lord and one so young was exceptionally rare. He would make a fine tool once he had been properly molded and forged in the powers of the dark side.

And yet the ghost of Skywalker kept noticing things about the boy that unsettled the Sith lord, the most disturbing was the fact that, as well as being as powerful as Vader imagined a blood child of his would be, he was approximately the same age it would have been. The boy wasn't of course, but the parallels were still there.

It was a torturous, dangerous thought, but one Vader could not vanquish.

In another life, when prophetic nightmares and stressful days proved too much for his weak mind, he would attempt to find solace in meditation, something he had rarely done before. Although he had promised that he would not, he had, just once, looked in on the sleeping from of his child. He had not allowed himself to detect the sex —that would have been too far outside the bounds of his word—but he had basked in it's force presence just that once.

It had been one of the few truly innocent creatures, second in luminous beauty only to one being in the entire galaxy.

And Vader had killed them both. It was all Kenobi's fault. He had turned his angel against him, twisted her mind until she was no longer the woman he loved. Vader had then been relatively untried in the dark arts; he had not yet known how to control and channel his burning anger rather then letting it get the best of him.

He had been sure she had been alive when he let go of her windpipe; the force had still hummed with both her strength and that of the child's. If Kenobi had just died when he was supposed to, not only would Vader not be in this wretched suit, but he would have been able to go back for her; he would have been able to save her and they would all rule the galaxy together. As a family.

He let the anger and hatred simmer as he stared out into the blackness of space. His subordinates knew better then to bother him unless it was necessary and soon his passion became a cold, all-consuming burn that lead the way to a sublime meditation.

Time was different in the force and yet it seemed only moments from when the darkness warped itself around him and the moment a bright force presence flashed just long enough to push back the darkness with it's blinding, burning light.

It was young, relatively untrained and powerful. But more then that it was familiar. It called to Vader's very being as if it had a direct line to his blood.

He debated with himself. There were places he swore not to go. His pain may only strengthen the dark side, but there were lines even he was not willing to cross—Vader had still been in surgery as they had laid his angel to rest and perhaps that was something of a blessing; he had not been back since.

And yet that presence...it was a foolish hope, one he would not let himself consciously form, but perhaps there was a reason it called to him so...paragraph...

Regardless, it was the sign of a powerful force user, one that would have to be dealt with.

"Captain," he said into his comlink, "set course for Naboo."

* * *

Lori thought the world was pretty. There were a lot a trees but it wasn't a forest. In a forest there the trees were so tall she couldn't see the sky or the clouds and it was hot and sticky. But here was the prettiest place she had ever seen because there were just enough trees to be pretty and she could see the sky.

But the place hurt her mommy. It made her a little happy and a lot sad and Lori didn't understand why. Lori could see that her mommy had been here before. She had liked it as much as Lori did, maybe more, and missed it terribly, but she was frightened of something.

Lori wanted to help her Mommy but she didn't know how. She wished really, _really_ hard that she knew a way to make her Mommy less sad.

Something inside Lori tugged at the bottom of her tummy. Aunt Sho called it the Force and said that Lori should always listen to what it told her because it would always be smarter then her or even her mommy. Her mommy was one of the smartest grown-ups Lori knew (Uncle Obi, Aunt Sho, and Uncle Rex were all smart too, buy mommy was a special kind of smart) and so if the Force was smarter then it would have to be REALLY smart.

It told her that there was something that could help her and it was close, but Lori might have to do something a little bit naughty. Her mommy told her to stay on the ship with Luke and Leia while she talked to another grown-up about fixing the ship, but the Force told her to go down the street. If the Force was smarter then her really-smart mommy, and if it was going to make her mommy less sad, Lori thought it would be okay not to do what she was told...just this once.

Luke and Leia were to busy arguing about who's turn it was to play with the toy starfighter so they didn't see her slip out the back of the ship. She made herself really tiny in the Force like Sho told her to. No grown-ups tried to bother her as she walked out the space port and onto the street.

There weren't a lot of people around, but that was okay. After a few moments Lori saw two girls walking down the street. They weren't really grown-ups, but they were really older then Lori. They had bags on their backs so Lori figured they were at least old enough to go to school.

They were calling to her almost like Luke and Leia did, but it was much much quieter. Like a whisper. The Force told her to follow them so Lori did.

She stayed hidden behind the bushes as they walked up to a pretty house with plants growing up the walls. A grown-up lady opened the door and smiled at them, asking how their day was. Lori didn't know what to do. The Force told her to keep following them but mommy AND Sho AND Obi had all told her not to go into strangers houses unless they were there with her and said it was okay. But Sho said the Force was smarter then all of them and it was telling her it was okay so...

"Ryoo, Pooja, who's that?" The lady asked the girls and pointed at Lori peaking out from behind the hedges.

They told their mommy that they didn't know who Lori was and that they hadn't seen her following them. Lori was proud that she was able to be so sneaky but she didn't let herself get to proud. Uncle Obi said that that wasn't the Jedi way...whatever that meant.

The lady came up to her and stooped down so that they were about the same height. She seemed nice and looked a lot like her mommy.

"What's your name?" she asked, smiling at her.

The lady reminded Lori of her mommy a lot but she wasn't as sad. Her mommy was always sad even when she pretended she wasn't. The Force tingled in her tummy again and she realized that the lady reminded her of her mommy the same way Luke reminded her of Leia. Her mommy and the lady must be sisters! But wouldn't her mommy have said something?

"I'm Lori. What's your name?" she asked, excited.

"You can call me Miss Sola. Why were you following my girls?"

Lori knew that she couldn't tell Aunt Sola about the Force. Aunt Sho said it was a really big secret and that she couldn't ever tell anyone...but that didn't mean she had to lie and you don't lie to family. Ever.

"It's pretty here. I was just looking but got lost."

"Where are your parents?"

"Daddy's dead and Mommy's with the space ship. It broked." Lori explained.

Aunt Sola looked confused and a little worried. Why would she be worried? Mommy said the ship could be fixed and even if no one else could, Lori knew that she could fix it...maybe with just a little help from Luke.

"And your mommy didn't notice you walking away?"

Lori shook her head. "Luke and Leia started fighting."

"So your mother's at the spaceport?" Lori nodded and Aunt Sola turned to look at the girls. "Why don't you go inside and begin your assignments? I shouldn't be long."

Aunt Sola took her and walked her down the road. They talked a bit; she would ask Lori questions about Luke and Leia and if they fought all the time. Lori told her they did but only about little things.

Lori really liked Aunt Sola because she didn't talk to her like she was a baby, like most grown-ups (not family grown-ups like Uncle Rex and Uncle Obi and Aunt Sho, but stranger grown-ups) did. She was really nice too and Lori couldn't wait until her mommy saw her. Then she would be happy and not sad anymore.

The moment her mommy turned to look at Aunt Sola, Lori knew she had messed up somehow but she didn't understand why. Aunt Sola was really surprised to see her mommy, but it wasn't a good surprise like the kind Lori could unwrap. This was the bad kind like that time when mommy's cooking made Uncle Obi really sick because he was al-geric to it and mommy didn't know.

"Padmé?" Aunt Sola whispered so quietly it almost sounded like she was just breathing.

Lori's mommy looked around, almost as if she was afraid someone would hear. Like her name was some big secret that no one was supposed to know...not even Aunt Sola.

"Lori, get on the ship." She said her voice sounded kind of mean and hurt.

"But—"

"I said now, Lormé!" She snapped and Lori was knew she had really messed up. Mommy didn't call her that unless she really was in trouble and she never NEVER yelled at her like that.

But more then that, Lori could tell that it hurt her mommy to see Aunt Sola. She was happy, but sad and mad and confused and worried and a whole bunch of other bad things.

She didn't know why her mommy was so upset, but she did know bringing Aunt Sola here was a really bad thing. All she had wanted to do was fix it and make her mommy happy but something went really, REALLY wrong. Lori didn't know why or how, but the Force (and how mad her mommy was) told her she had broken something really important; something she didn't know how to fix.

All she wanted to do was hide; she didn't even cry when she fell down when she ran up the ramp. She just got up and kept going until she reached the engine room. Lori squeezed herself behind the compressor coils and pulled her knees up close to her chest and started rocking back and forth.

Luke and Leia knew she was upset but she would not talk to them, even in her mind. She just put her fingers in her ears and hummed, trying to pretend it didn't happen. That she hadn't broken everything.

After a while Lori heard steps coming closer to her and she knew that they were from a grown-up.

Her mom stooped down and Lori to back up more but the wall was in the way. Lori pushed her head into her knees. She knew her mommy was mad but she didn't want to get yelled at again.

"Oh Lori, what did you do?" her mommy whispered and her voice sounded really soft and nice, like it did when she was trying to sing away Lori's nightmares.

"I'm sorry," Lori said, giving her mommy a big hug and burying her face into her shoulder. "I was just trying to fix you."

* * *

There had been many days when Padmé had wished for exactly this; that by some twist of fate she could be reunited with the family she had lost, that she would be given a chance to hold her mother or confide in her sister again after she had been forced to fake her death. But now that it was actually happening, at least partially, she would do anything to take it back.

And yet here she was at Valakino, a place that was almost sacred to her and yet a place she never wanted to return to. The images it brought up seared themselves into her mind; Anakin, looking so hansom in his jedi robes and padawan braid as they exchanged wedding vows; the way the gentle moonlight shown across his face as the made the most of the few days of leave he got from the war; and of course there was the memory of the other world seared into her brain—the world in which she actually had everything she had wished for.

It was also one of the only places they could talk freely. Padmé couldn't risk being seen and at this time of year most of the staff would have been given leave.

Padmé powered down the ship the moment it hit the landing pad and took a deep, steadying breath. She had spent the last hours going over just how much she could and would tell her sister. As much as she hated lying, it would be both impossible and irresponsible to tell Sola everything, and yet there was no way her older sister would let her get away without explaining something.

It had been a hard ruse to come up with but it just might work. Sola only knew about Lori and Padmé wasn't going to change that. The children were going to stay in the cabin and if it was required, she would bring out Lori and not the others.

It would be bad enough if the Emperor and Ana-Vader knew she was alive, then they could even suspect that a child existed as well, but they could not know about all three. Back when she was still naive enough to think she would get her happy ending, she had told her medical droid not to tell her anything about the child that wasn't necessary. She had wanted the gender to be a surprise and, she supposed, the droid took that as an order not the reveal the number of children as well.

"Children," she said, looking in on them quietly playing. Padmé didn't get a chance to finish when a rough, static voice came over the intercom.

"This is a restricted area. Come out with your hands up or we will use deadly force."

Padmé turned to the children, her mind going through every option she could think of which was, admittedly, not many. She could not run; the ship would take far too long to cycle back up.

"Hide," she hissed, not bothering to sooth the worry they could feel roiling off her in waves. There was only one option. Maybe if she cooperated she could talk her way out of it. Maybe.

She walked quietly down the ramp, forcing herself to at least look calm and nonthreatening as she approached the troopers. Her senator's mask must have been a little rusty form Years of unuse because the small army of stormtroopers at the end of the ramp didn't even give her a chance to open her mouth. The moment she had descended down a blaster was shoved into her shoulder blades and she couldn't' assume it was set for stun.

Padmé stared straight ahead, willing herself not o look back and give the troopers a reason to search her ship, as they marched her down the dark hall until they got to the atrium.

Nothing could have ever prepared her for the sight. Bodies of what she could only assume to be the staff were strung everywhere like discarded leaves after an Autumn storm. Some had been shot, some had been sliced through with a lightsaber, and some looked as if some great force had thrown them across the room.

"M'lord?" A trooper called and the sinister, black clad figure stood, his only movement a slight twitch of his hand, letting his last victim fall. Sola's lifeless body the floor with a broken thud, eyes open and staring directly at Padmé.

She let out a horrified scream and Vader turned.

"Padmé?" he said but whatever emotion he was feeling (if he could feel at all) was obscured by the vocalizeer.

When she had first over heard Obi-wan and Ahsoka talking, she had thought that maybe her Ani wasn't dead, that maybe Obi-wan just hadn't been willing to see the good in him after the temple, but now she understood the truth. Anakin was dead and this sadistic, twisted monster had taken his place.

Padmé's eyes never moved from Sola's as the horror and shock took over as her stomach lurched in terror. This was her fault. It was all her fault. If she hadn't come to Naboo, if she hadn't run from Obi-wan...

And if Vader could do that to Sola then...oh goddess! The children. They were in the ship. How was she going to...

He took a small step forward as if to touch her and instantly she recoiled. His black gloved hand clutched into a fist and for a moment she was afraid he would choke her like he had before...and like he had Sola, but he didn't.

His hand dropped to his side and he just stood there silent but for the horrible rhythmic sound of his breathing.

A small flicker of movement brought her attention to the open door just to the right of the massacre. She did not move her eyes—she could not call Vader's attention to it—but there, just a few meters down the hall was a very familiar face, one that had been imprinted on both her best dreams and worst nightmares. Canaan.

Maybe, if she could somehow tell him what was happening he could get the children off world before Vader got to them. She would gladly stay behind as a distraction if that's what it took to keep Vader and his master from hurting her kids. But how was she to tell him without alerting Vader to the plain?

Vader head jerked slightly, looking over her shoulder. He took another step forward and, as odd as it seemed, he was trembling slightly.

Padmé's stomach sank just before she heard the one thing that tore through her heart at the implications of what it would bring.

"Momma?"


End file.
